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THE  HOLCOMBE&: 


A    STORY    OF    VIRGINIA    HOME-LIFE. 


BY 

?86*l'AJOi 

MARY   TUCKER  MAGTLL 


"Then  give  me  back  the  times  when  I  myself  was  forming;  when 
a  fountain  of  crowded  lays  sprang  freshly  and  unbrokenly  forth  ; 
when  mists  veiled  the  world  before  me — the  bud  still  promised 
miracles;  when  I  gathered  the  thousand  flowers  which  profusely 
filled  the  dales  !  I  had  nothing,  and  yet  enough — the  longing  after 
truth,  the  pleasure  in  delusion!  Give  me  back  those  impulses  un- 
tamed— the  deep  pain-fraught  happiness,  the  energy  of  hate,  tho 
might  of  love — give  me  back  my  youth !" — GOETHE'S  FAUST. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 

1871. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   &   CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


SRLF 
URL 


TO 

VIRGINIA, 

MY   NATIVE   STATE, 

This  first  effort  of  my  pen 

ft 

|s  rcspcctfullg  dedicated. 

If  it  should  prove  successful  in 

rescuing  from  the  grave  of  oblivion 

the  memory  of  her  time-honored  instituti'/ns, 

as  they  existed  in  the  palmiest  days 

of  her  prosperity,  before  she  was 

scarred  and  seamed  by  the 

touch  of  misfortune, 

the  laborer  will 

have  received 

her  hire. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


IT  is  not  my  design,  in  the  following  pages,  to  enter 
tbe  arena  in  defense  of  departed  institutions,  or  to  pro- 
voke political  animosities.  I  have,  on  the  contrary,  chosen 
that  period  in  the  history  of  my  State  when  these  discus- 
sions had  but  little  place  in  family  interests.  In  short,  it 
has  been  my  endeavor  to  present  to  the  world  a  faithful 
picture  of  a  Virginia  home  as  it  was  before  the  late  war. 

This  period  has  been  chosen  particularly,  also,  because, 
so  far  as  I  know,  it  is  a  field  yet  untrodden  by  the  nov- 
elist, though  full  of  interest,  as  presenting  to  our  view 
Virginia  in  her  palmiest  days, — as  she  was  when  she  first 
bared  her  bosom  to  the  sword,  and  opened  her  gates  to 
present  her  sacred  soil  as  the  battle-field  of  the  war. 

It  is  the  more  important  that  these  times  should  not 
pass  unrecorded,  because,  owing  to  the  stirring  events 
which  so  immediately  follow  them,  there  is  danger  of 
their  sinking  to  a  grave  "  unhonored  and  unknown." 
And  then,  too,  when  we  remember  that  the  most  largely 
circulated  pictures  of  life  in  our  Southern  States  are  taken 
from  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin-,"  and  like  libels  upon  our 
people,  it  ought  to  be  sufficient  to  arouse  the  slumbering 
genius  of  the  South  to  arise  and  assert  her  claims  to  a 
position  in  the  nation  as  a  refined,  hospitable,  cultivated, 
and  benevolent  people. 

Whilst  in  these  pages  I  have  carefully  avoided  positive 
personalities,  yet  have  I  earnestly  tried  to  present  truth- 

1*  (v) 


vi  PREFACE. 

fully  the  ruling  characteristics  of  Virginians.  Though 
no  one  will  be  able  to  blush  with  indignation  at  being 
impertinently  dragged  before  the  public,  with  all  of  their 
sacred  family  affairs,  yet  the  Holcombes  do  exist,  and 
have  ever  existed,  in  our  homes  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Virginia. 

I  say  I  have  avoided  personalities,  and  yet  I  plead 
guilty,  so  far  as  that  humble  race  is  concerned  who  have 
been  so  intimately  connected  with  our  domestic  relations 
for  centuries.  With  regard  to  them,  I  will  say,  that  each 
portrait  has  been  drawn  from  nature, — that  great  fountain- 
head  of  truth.  Each  one  who  has  found  a  niche  in  my 
gallery  of  family  portraits  lives  as  distinctly  in  my  mem- 
ory as  if  seen  but  yesterday.  I  have  even  retained  their 
peculiarities  of  expression,  as  essentially  necessary  to  a 
faithful  portraiture  of  their  characters. 

The  work  has  been  a  pleasant  one  to  me,  since  it  has 
served  to  recall  to  my  mind  those  tenderly-remembered 
days  before  poverty  came  to  grind,  or  war  and  bloodshed 
to  desolate,  our  homes.  My  next  task  will  be  less  con- 
genial, as  I  propose,  should  the  public  desire  a  further 
acquaintance  with  the  family,  to  whom  it  has  been  my 
pleasure  to  introduce  them,  to  continue  their  history 
through  a  less  prosperous,  though  more  exciting,  period 
of  their  lives. 

Until  then  I  make  my  adieu. 

MARY  TUCKER  MAQILL. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I  AGE 

Margaret  Holeombe  introduces  Herself  .....  9 

CHAPTER  II. 
Jean  Murray  introduces  Herself    .......         IS 

CHAPTER  III. 
Rose  Hill  and  its  Inmates. — Jean's  Diary      .....         21 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Margaret's  First  Impressions          .......         30 

CHAPTER  V. 
"  Mary  Holeombe,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen"    .....         35 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Letter  from  Jean  to  her  Brother     .......         41 

CHAPTER  VII. 
A  Family  Gathering       .........         51 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Jean's  Diary. — A  Christmas  Morning    ......         50 

CHAPTER  IX. 
An  Old  Virginia  Christmas  Dinner         ......         69 

CHAPTER  X. 
A  Family  Consultation,  and  what  came  of  it         .         .         .         .         83 

CHAPTER  XI. 
School 97 

CHAPTER  XII. 
George  AVashington  revived     ........     104 

(vii) 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

PAGE 

Harvest    .  ,     108 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  Picnic        

114 

CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Angel  of  Death          

.     129 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Margaret  leaves  Home     

.     138 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Jean's  Diary.  —  Two  Years'  Gap  filled  up         .... 

.     147 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
An  Important  Arrival       

.     150 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
The  Family  Circle    . 

.     158 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Preparations  for  a  Feast  

.     166 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Miss  Holcombe's  Debut    

.     185 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Tournament 198 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
Asking  Papa 217 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Dr.  Burton ' 227 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  Devil  helps  his  Own. — A  Funeral 241 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Fortune  Favors  the  Brave 256 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
A  Night  Visitor 271 


CONCLUSION 


288 


THE  HOLCOMBES. 
A  STORY   OF  VIRGINIA  HOME-LIFE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

MARGARET    HOLCOMBE    INTRODUCES    HERSELF. 

October  12th.  To-day  I  begin  ray  new  diary,  and,  as  a 
preparation,  I  have  been  looking  over  the  old  ones.  How 
glad  I  am  that  my  precious  mother  taught  me  to  keep 
one  from  the  time  I  was  a  little  child  !  It  is  so  pleasant 
to  me  now  to  be  able  to  turn  over  the  leaves  of  my  Jife 
almost  back  to  the  days  of  pothooks  and  hangers,  judging 
from  the  hieroglyphics  displayed  in  my  first  essays,  and 
the  fearful  tortures  the  English  etymology  suffered  in  my 
hands.  Parts  of  it  are  almost  as  interesting  as  a  diary  I 
read  of  somewhere,  consisting  of  such  thrilling  facts  as 
these  :  "  Got  up  this  morning  and  washed  my  face  and 
hands  ;"  and  next,  "  Got  up  this  morning  and  only  washed 
my  face ;"  but  still,  it  is  interesting  to  me.  Now,  how  well 
I  remember  my  feelings  as  I  made  this  entry,  in  letters, 
by-the-by,  which  stare  me  out  of  countenance  :  "  I  have 
had  a  grate  sorrow  to-day.  I  fell  down  and  broke  my 
dear  Julia's  hed."  Julia  was  my  big,  ugly  dolly,  over 
which  I  was  as  true  a  mourner  as  "  Rachel  weeping  for 
her  children."  Well !  well  I  I  have  made  a  great  step 

(9) 


10  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

since  then.  I  can  hardly  realize  I  am  the  same  person. 
I  was  eight  years  old  at  that  time,  and  to-day  I  am  fifteen. 
Then  I  was  crying  over  the  loss  of  my  doll,  but  since 
then  I  have  mourned  over  my  precious  mother :  all  I  re- 
tain of  her  are  two  sweet  pictures,  one  on  canvas,  but 
the  sweetest  and  best  in  my  heart, — for  what  can  I  not 
remember  of  her?  Her  loving  heart,  her  beauty,  her 
noble  gentleness,  so  far  above  the  commonplace  meekness 
you  see  allied  to  a  lower  type  of  humanity,  of  whom  you 
hear  persons  say,  "  She  is  so  sweet!  so  lovely!  so  gentle !" 
and  you  look,  and  see  a  little  white-faced,  meek-browed 
being,  spiritless  as  a  mouse.  What  credit  does  she  deserve 
for  being  meek,  I  should  like  to  know  ? 

I  saw  such  a  one  in  church  some  weeks  ago.  She  is 
a  young  lady,  visiting  at  Mrs.  Campbell's,  I  think, — a 
Miss  Murray.  I  could  not  help  contrasting  her  with  my 
own  mother,  with  her  noble  expanse  of  brow  overshadow- 
ing those  brown  eyes  so  full  of  life,  fire,  and  character, 
and  the  gentleness  which  comes  from  a  chastened  spirit. 
That  is  what  I  want  to  have.  I  was  so  busy  drawing 
this  contrast  from  the  face  of  Miss  Murray  that,  I  am 
afraid,  I  was  a  little  rude  in  staring;  and  was  only  re- 
called to  myself  by  her  blushing  face.  My  own  mother 
would  not  have  allowed  herself  to  be  put  out  of  counte- 
nance by  so  slight  a  matter, — but  is  any  one  like  her? 
Shall  I  ever  be?  Papa  says  I  look  like  her;  but  that  is 
not  my  greatest  wish.  I  want,  it  is  true,  to  be  her  "  very 
image  in  fair  face,"  but  I  \vant  more.  I  want  her  mind, 
her  heart,  her  spirit:  I  want  to  be  like  her  in  all  things. 
I  am  going  to  make  her  my  beau-ideal.  I  remember 
saying  this  to  her  once;  and  she  said  so  gravely  and 
sweetly,  "  My  Margie,  would  you  close  your  shutters  and 
read  by  a  tallow-candle,  when  you  could  have  the  glorious 
light  of  God's  sun  ?  Why  choose  me  as  your  model 


MARGARET  HOLCOMBE  INTRODUCES  HERSELF.    11 

when  you  can  aim  so  much  higher  ?"  Well,  that  of 
course  is  true;  but  I  do  not  think  it  can  be  any  harm  to 
choose  an  earthly  possible  aim,  rather  than  one  so  far 
beyond  me  as  our  Saviour  is.  Certainly  I  shall  be  satis- 
fied if  I  am  only  like  her. 

What  a  comfort  a  diary  is !  I  can  go  to  mine,  and  tell 
it  everything  as  if  it  was  really  a  friend.  Since  mamma 
died  it  is  the  only  confidential  friend  I  have  had.  Papa 
is  so  much  away,  and  seems,  besides,  so  much  preoccupied : 
and  I  always  feel  afraid  that  my  little  cares  and  troubles 
would  make  him  smile,  though  they  are  as  great  to  me 
as  older  persons'  are  to  them.  I  think  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  if  grown  people  could  realize  that.  If  I  ever  have 
children — and  I  suppose  I  shall — I  will  remember  this, 
and  encourage  them  to  tell  me  everything:  that  will  be 
like  mamma. 

If  I  only  had  a  sister  !  I  mean  older  than  myself,  or 
near  my  age.  Now  Mary  is  twelve,  it  is  true  ;  but,  good- 
ness, she  is  more  of  a  boy  than  a  girl,  and  would  rather 
any  time  go  hunting  with  John,  or  play  dolls  with  Lilias, 
than  to  listen  to  me  !  Then  there  is  Mrs.  Bascombe :  sup- 
pose I  should  try  to  make  a  confidante  of  her, — "  Angels 
and  ministers  of  grace,  defend  us !"  I  did  try  it  once  ; 
but  she  only  said,  in  her  stiff  way,  "  My  dear,  it  is  a  very 
bad  plan  to  imagine  miseries.  The  sentimental  enthusi- 
asms of  girls  of  your  age  are  generally  very  silly."  So, 
poor  snail  that  1  am,  I  crawl  back  into  my  shell,  and  only 
confide  in  my  diary.  If  I  am  silly,  no  one  knows  it,  and 
this  dear  friend  never  rebuffs  me.  I  like  silent  friends. 
I  like  to  have  all  the  talking  to  myself,  when  I  am  in  a 
talking  mood.  So  this  is  my  birthday !  Yes,  Miss 
Margaret  Holcombe  is  fifteen  years  old  to-day !  Papa 
looked  quite  grave  over  the  fact.  I  suppose  he  does  not 
quite  like  having  a  daughter  fifteen  years  old,  when  he 


12  THE  HO L COMBES. 

looks  so  young.  But  men  that  marry  at  twenty-one  must 
expect  some  such  inconvenience  before  they  get  to  be 
forty.  I  often  wish  I  could  have  seen  papa  and  mamma 
when  they  were  married:  they  must  have  been  so  young 
and  handsome.  Just  think,  mamma  was  only  three 
years  older  than  I  am  !  Well,  I  think  that  is  old  enough. 
If  a  girl's  character  is  not  formed  at  eighteen,  it  never 
will  be.  Certainly,  I  expect  to  feel  as  old  as  the  hills  by 
that  time;  but  I  have  more  experience  than  most  girls, 
having  charge  of  the  family  since  mamma's  death.  Not 
the  charge  exactly,  but  I  sit  at  the  head  of  the  table  and 
pour  out  tea.  Mrs.  Bascombe  and  Mammy  do  the  rest 
pretty  much,  but  still  the  eldest  daughter  has  to  be  more 
womanly  under  the  circumstances.  I  think  it  would  be 
better  if  papa  would  give  me  more  authority  over  the 
children,  now  that  I  am  fifteen ;  I  am  sure  I  would  be 
prudent  and  careful ;  and  Mary  wants  some  one  to  de- 
velop her ;  she  is  a  dreadful  tomboy.  It  would  be  right 
hard  to  bring  John  and  herself  into  measures,  I  know, 
because  they  do  not  seem  at  all  to  realize  how  old  I  am 
growing,  and  think  themselves  as  good  as  I  am ;  and 
poor  little  Lilias  no  one  wants  to  manage,  she  must 
always  do  as  she  pleases.  I  will  ask  papa  about  this  at 
once.  If  he  will  only  have  confidence  in  me,  and  help  me, 
I  am  sure  I  can  do  very  well  even  with  John  and  Mary. 
October  13th.  I  could  not  write  any  more,  dear  diary, 
yester.day,  because  I  was  so  miserable,  and  I  had  to  take 
it  out  in  a  good  cry.  One  feels  so  much  better  after  a 
good  cry,  when  they  have  a  great  trouble,  though  I  am 
not  very  sure  I  did  yesterday,  for  my  head  ached  and  my 
eyes  smarted  so  that  I  could  do  nothing  but  go  to  sleep. 
Fortunately,  my  troubles  never  keep  me  awake,  as  some 
people's  do.  I  have  tried  sometimes  to  stay  awake  and 
cry  over  them,  but  sleep  always  comes  in  spite  of  me. 


MARGARET  IIOLCOMBE  INTRODUCES  HERSELF.    13 

Well,  to  begin  at  the  beginning :  I  was  so  in  earnest 
in  the  idea  of  helping  the  children, — now  I  am  growing 
so  old, — that  I  put  you  away  in  a  hurry,  thinking  that 
I  would  soon  return  to  you,  and  with  your  help  would 
make  my  plans  for  future  action.  I  did  not  run,  be- 
cause I  am  trying  to  get  over  the  habit  of  romping 
through  the  house,  but  I  walked  very  quickly  into  papa's 
study,  and  found  him  writing  something  which  he  put 
hastily  aside  when  I  came  into  the  room,  and  met  me,  as 
he  always  does,  with  a  smile  of  welcome. 

"  Papa,"  I  said,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  some- 
thing very  important." 

"  Well,  daughter,  that  suits  my  mood  exactly.  You 
are  growing  so  old  now  that  I  shall  expect  something 
very  important, — of  course,  trivial  matters  cease  to  in- 
terest young  ladies  of  fifteen."  And  he  drew  me  down 
upon  his  knee,  and  pushed  back  the  hair  from  my  face. 
I  always  know  when  he  does  that,  he  is  thinking  of  my 
mother,  and  noting  the  likeness  I  bear  to  her. 

"  But,  papa,"  I  said,  "  I  am  not  joking.  I  do  not  want 
you  to  laugh  at  the  idea  of  my  being  fifteen.  I  ought  to 
think  seriously  about  it.  My  own  mother  was  only  three 
years  older  when  she  was  married." 

"  Indeed !"  laughed  papa,  most  provokingly,  turning 
up  my  face  to  his.  "  Does  this  big  wheel  turn  in  that 
direction?  No,  Margie,  I  think  you  are  too  young." 

"  Papa,  papa,  indeed  you  are  unkind !"  cried  I,  while  I 
felt  the  tears  rush  to  my  eyes.  "  I  do  not  mean  any 
such  nonsense.  I  have  never  seen  the  man  yet  I  want 
to  marry."  This  I  said  in  a  very  dignified  way,  because  I 
was  hurt  that  he  should  laugh  at  me  all  the  time  as  if  I 
had  been  one  of  the  little  children. 

It  had  its  effect,  for  seeing  me  so  in  earnest  he  too 
grew  grave,  and,  putting  his  arm  about  me,  said, — 

2 


14  THE  UOLCOMBES. 

"  Well,  daughter,  let  me  hear  what  it  is ;  I  am  sorry 
I  laughed  at  you." 

"  I  came  to  ask  you,  papa,  now  I  am  growing  so  much 
older  and  more  womanly,  to  let  me  take  more  care  of, 
and  authority  over,  the  children  ;  they  want  some  one  to 
look  after  them,  and  I  do  not  think  Mrs.  Bascombe  has 
quite  the  right  plan  about  it,  and  they  are  growing  too 
old  to  be  willing  to  submit  to  Mammy,  so  I  think  no 
one  would  care  so  much  about  it  as  I  should,  if  you  will 
only  give  me  the  authority.  I  might  have  a  difficulty 
with  John  and  Mary  at  first,  but  I  know  it  would  all 
come  right  in  time." 

Here  I  changed  my  position  so  as  to  get  a  view  of 
papa's  face ;  it  was  very  grave  and  thoughtful,  with  a 
shade  of  troubled  embarrassment  upon  it.  He  did  not 
speak  for  full  a  minute,  and  then  with  a  manner  so  full 
of  all  I  saw  in  his  face  that  I  caught  the  infection,  and 
felt  a  shadow  of  the  great  trouble  which  was  to  come 
upon  me. 

"  It  is  true,  as  you  say,  my  little  girl,"  he  said ;  "  I 
have  felt  for  a  long  time  that  some  influence  was  want- 
ing to  supply  to  my  children  what  they  have  lost.  Mrs. 
Bascombe  does  the  best  she  can ;  but  that  is  little.  I 
do  the  best  I  can ;  but  that  does  not  at  all  touch  the  evil. 
I  see  my  children,  with  grief,  growing  up  with  many 
lackings,  over  which  their  mother  would  grieve.  Your 
ideas  are  kind  and  worthy  of  you,  dear.  I  love  you  for 
them  ;  but  you  are  too  young.  I  could  not,  if  I  wished 
it,  endow  you  with  sufficient  authority  to  govern  your 
sister  and  brother  so  nearly  your  own  age.  Nor  would 
I,  if  I  could,  burden  your  heart,  so  young,  with  such 
cares.  Your  influence  may  do  much  with  them  ;  and  I  do 
trust  much  to  it  in  the  making  them  what  they  ought  to 
be,  but  it  must  be  by  example  more  than  by  precept, 


MARGARET  IIOLCOMBE  INTRODUCES  HERSELF.    15 

Margie.  Learn  to  rule  your  own  spirit,  and  then  they 
will  respect  and  admire  your  mother  in  you.  You  give 
me  an  opportunity,  my  child,  which  I  have  long  wanted, 
but  did  not  know  how  to  make,  to  confide  to  you  some 
engagements  I  have  entered  into  in  which  you,  in  com- 
mon with  my  other  children,  are  deeply  interested." 

"  Oh,  papa,"  I  said,  my  face  burning  with  excitement, 
"  I  know  what  it  is,  and  I  am  so  glad  :  you  are  going  to 
send  Mrs.  Bascombe  away  and  get  a  new  governess." 

"Margie,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were  nerving  himself  to 
some  great  trial,  "  I  am  going  to  send  Mrs.  Bascombe 
away,  and  I  am  going  to  bring  one  here  whom,  I  trust, 
you  will  all  love  and  honor ;  and  who,  I  am  sure,  on  her 
part,  will  do  everything  she  can  to  win  and  keep  your 
love  and  confidence,  as  she  has  mine.  She  comes,  not  as 
a  governess,  but  as  my  wife." 

It  was  dawning  upon  me  all  the  time  he  spoke,  but  I 
cast  the  hated  light  away.  And  when  the  last  dreadful 
word  was  spoken,  and  I  knew  it  was  true,  I  tore  myself 
from  his  arms,  and  casting  myself  down  upon  the  floor, 
wept  with  passionate  and  angry  grief. 

With  great  gentleness  he  raised  me  up,  saying,  "My 
child,  my  darling  child,  you  grieve  me  bitterly  by  this." 

But  I  was  not  to  be  comforted  in  this  way.  I  told 
him  that  I  did  not,  could  not,  love  him  ;  that  he  insulted 
the  memory  of  my  mother  by  putting  any  one  in  her 
place ;  that  I  only  wanted  to  go  away  somewhere  and 
take  the  children,  and  leave  him  and  his  "  old  wife  ;"  that 
we  never  would  forget  mamma. 

"  Nor  have  I  forgotten  her,  dear,"  he  said,  so  sadly  that 
in  the  midst  of  my  frenzy  I  could  not  help  a  feeling  of 
tenderness  coming  in.  And  when  I  looked  at  him,  through 
my  blinding  tears,  he  looked  as  he  did  the  night  mamma 
died,  so  pale  and  sad.  A  thought  came  into  my  mind 


16  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

that  perhaps  he  did  not  marry  because  he  loved,  but  for 
the  sake  of  his  children.  So  I  crept  within  his  arras 
again,  and,  kissing  him,  said,  "  Papa,  forgive  me  ;  I  do 
love  you;  it  was  very  wicked  in  me  to  say  such  words. 
You  cannot  forget  my  precious  mother, — you  cannot 
love  another  woman  as  you  did  her.  Don't  bring  her 
here.  Indeed,  I  can  take  care  of  the  children." 

"  Mai'gie,"  he  said,  "you  are  mistaken;  God  has  so 
constituted  the  human  heart  that  the  love  for  one  cannot 
drive  out  the  love  for  another.  And  while  I  shall  never 
forget  your  dear  mother,  and  all  she  was  to  me  for  twelve 
years,  I  do  love  the  woman  I  shall  make  my  wife  with  a 
deep,  earnest  devotion.  I  do  not  marry  a  slave,  to  be 
subject  to  my  will  and  do  my  work  with  no  return,  but 
I  take  Jean  Murray  into  my  innermost  heart  along  with 
your  dead  mother,  and  shall  cherish  her  there  until  death 
us  do  part." 

"Well,  papa,"  I  answered,  "you  had  better  send  me 
away,  for  my  whole  soul  rises  against  it,  and  I  feel  as  if 
it  would  kill  me  to  see  any  woman  in  my  mother's  place. 
She  shall  never  have  a  welcome  from  me." 

"  Margaret,"  my  father  had  never  spoken  so  sternly  to 
me  before,  and  even  in  the  midst  of  my  excitement  my 
spirit  quailed  before  him,  "you  fill  me  with  forebodings 
for  your  future.  I  insist  upon  your  speaking  to  me  with 
proper  respect,  and  upon  your  treating  my  wife,  when- 
ever I  chose  to  bring  her  here,  as  the  mistress  of  my 
house,  the  head  of  my  home,  and  one  whom  I  have  con- 
sidered worthy  to  share  my  heart  with  your  dead  mother's 
memory."  And  before  I  had  recovered  sufficiently  to 
answer  him  he  had  left  the  room.  And  now  I  am  per- 
fectly miserable.  I  have  to  admire  papa,  even  in  this ; 
he  is  right,  and  I  am  wrong.  But  still  I  hate  this  woman, 
this  Jean  Murray,  who  is  to  take  my  mamma's  place  To 


MARGARET  HOLCOMBE  INTRODUCES  HERSELF.    17 

think  of  its  being  the  very  woman  with  whom  I  was 
contrasting  mamma  in  church  that  Sunday  !  I  do  not 
blame  papa,  but  I  hate  her  and  her  sneaking,  underhand 
ways,  which  have  entrapped  him  into  marrying  her.  I 
know  this  is  all  wrong,  but  I  am  in  that  mood  this  even- 
ing when  I  like  to  do  wrong ;  because  if  I  do  right  I 
will  have  to  forget  mamma  and  love  Jean  Murray.  And 
then,  there  is  another  trial.  I  called  the  children  last  night, 
and,  with  many  tears,  told  them.  Mary  looked  grave 
for  an  instant,  and  then  said,  in  that  old-fashioned  way 
she  has  sometimes,  "  Well,  Margie,  I  think  it  is  the  best 
thing  that  could  happen  to  us  children,  to  have  some  one 
to  look  after  us,  we  are  so  neglected ;"  and  John,  who 
always  agrees  with  Mary,  said  he  thought  it  wrould  be 
"good  fun  to  have  a  new  mamma,"  "and  he  hoped  she 
would  make  plenty  of  nice  cakes."  Senseless  animal ! 
to  think  of  cakes  at  such  a  time  !  Even  little  Lilias  won- 
dered if  she  would  undress  her  and  rock  her  "up  and 
down"  as  mamma  used  to  do. 

Well,  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  be  miserable,  if  it 
is  by  myself.  The  only  person  who  seems  disposed  to 
condole  with  me  is  old  Aunt  Elsie  ;  but  of  course  I  cannot 
let  a  servant  speak  to  me  of  papa's  faults.  So  when  she 
came  to  my  room  and  commenced  groaning  in  her  way, 
"  Poor  missus !  poor  children  !  Well,  honey,  all  men  is 
alike,"  I  answered,  quite  fiercely,  "  Aunt  Elsie,  you  must 
not  speak  so  of  papa,  he  is  not  like  any  other  man  in  the 
world ;  he  has  a  perfect  right  to  bring  who  he  pleases  to 
his  own  house."  And  then  I  wondered  at  myself. 

I  saw  papa  last  night  at  tea,  and  thought  my  swollen 
eyes  and  suffering  face  would  have  touched  his  heart  and 
made  him  repent  his  harsh  words ;  but  he  was  just  as 
usual,  except  paler  and  more  quiet  perhaps,  and  after  tea 
advised  me  to  go  to  bed  as  the  best  cure  for  my  headache. 

2* 


CHAPTER    II. 

JEAN    MURRAY   INTRODUCES    HERSELF. 

November  \±th.  I  sit  down  to-night,  diary  in  hand,  to 
make  my  last  entry  in  my  maiden  life.  I  have  some- 
what the  feeling  which  I  would  have  by  the  bedside  of 
a  friend  who  was  on  the  verge  of  an  unknown  eternity ; 
for,  let  us  think  of  life  as  we  will,  whether  a  "moment's 
space,"  or  the  drifting  of  a  cloud  across  the  sky,  it  is  very 
important;  the  moment's  space  may  be  fifty  or  sixty 
years,  and  the  cloud  may  drift  into  blacker  darkness,  or 
be  first  gilded  with  the  light  from  God's  sun  and  then 
lost  in  the  full  effulgence  of  brightness  ;  but  be  this  as  it 
may,  we  all  want  our  lives  to  be  happy  and  useful,  and  I  do 
not  suppose  that  there  is  any  time  in  a  woman's  life  which 
is  more  interesting  to  her  than  her  marriage.  An  un- 
thinking girl  may  dash  into  the  new  existence  with  all 
the  gloss  of  bridal  happiness  upon  her,  without  a  thought 
of  the  future,  or  at  least  without  a  recognition  of  inevitable 
troubles  in  store  for  her.  But  it  is  not  so  with  me ;  in 
the  first  place,  my  sober  twenty-four  years  place  me  be- 
yond the  reckless  enthusiasms  of  early  girlhood.  I  know 
that  no  life  is  all  gladness,  and  then  again  I  know  that 
whilst  "my  lines  have  fallen  in  pleasant  places"  in  some 
respects,  yet  in  others  I  will  inevitably  encounter  many 
trials,  to  meet  which  I  have  no  positive  knowledge  to 
guide  me.  I  feel  like  a  man  wandering  in  the  dark  in 
the  midst  of  pitfalls  and  precipices  ;  but,  thank  God,  it  is 
not  so  ;  I  have  a  hand  outstretched,  I  have  a  comforting 
(18) 


JEAN  MURRAY  INTRODUCES  HERSELF.          19 

promise  that  as  my  "day  so  shall  my  strength  be."  To 
Him  I  commit  my  way ;  He  has  guided  me  so  far,  aiid  will 
to  the  end. 

I  am  glad  Mr.  Holcombe  has  been  so  perfectly  candid 
with  me.  He  does  not  promise  me  a  garden  of  thornless 
roses,  he  only  promises  to  do  what  he  can  to  eradicate 
the  prickles.  I  can  see  him  now,  as  he  stood  in  the  glow 
of  the  firelight,  some  weeks  ago,  with  the  gaslight  over 
his  head,  saying,  "Now,  Jean,  I  do  not  wish  at  all  to 
deceive  you.  I  feel  that  I  am  asking  a  great  deal  of  you 
when  I  ask  you  to  become  my  wife,  because  it  is  not  me 
alone  you  marry,  but  four  children,  and  not  four  angels, 
either.  I  think  there  is  more  than  an  ordinary  amount 
of  human  nature  in  my  progeny ;  and  of  late  years,  since 
I  lost  their  mother,  the  good  seeds  have  been  rather 
choked  out  by  weeds,  though  there  are  qualities  in  the 
soil  of  each  which  will  reward  the  toil  expended  in  the 
cultivation.  I  cannot  tell  you,  dear,  of  the  hope  with 
which  I  look  forward  to  your  firm,  gentle  influence  upon 
them, — they  want  it  so  badly."  A  vague  fear  filled  my 
heart,  and  I  said,  "  Is  it  for  that  you  asked  me  to  marry 
you,  Mr.  Holcombe  ?  I  could  not  be  a  faithful  mother  to 
your  children  with  no  reward  but  your  cold  approbation." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  bright  smile  which  broke  over 
his  face  as  he  knelt  down  on  the  carpet  before  me  and 
took  both  my  hands  in  his,  and,  looking  into  my  eyes, 
said, — 

"Ah,  Jean !  Jean  !  it  glads  my  very  soul  to  catch 
glimpses  of  your  heart  sometimes;  you  are  so  very  shy  of 
letting  me  see  into  its  depths.  Why,  little  woman,  you 
are  right  next  the  core  of  my  heart.  And  although  I 
could  never  have  loved  a  woman  who  I  did  not  think 
would  be  a  mother  to  my  children,  I  do  love  this  one, 
with  the  fullest  confidence  that  she  will  meet  my  most 


20  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

ardent  desires  in  every  respect ;  but  not  without  some 
self-reproach,  because  I  am  laying  my  burdens  on  her 
slender  shoulders."  Well,  it  is  pleasant  to  be  loved,  even 
if  it  does  bring  cares  along  with  it;  and,  God  helping  me, 
I  will  do  my  duty  to  him  and  his,  looking  for  help  to  the 
fountain  of  all  strength. 

There  is  one  thing  that  ought  to  be  a  guide  to  me  in 
my  new  duties,  and  that  is,  that  I  know  so  well  what  an 
uncomfortable  stepmother  is.  The  troubles  which  made 
me  an  alien  from  my  father's  house  shall  be  a  lesson  to 
me  in  my  ne\v  home, — a  lesson  learned  in  England  and 
profited  by  in  America. 

This  makes  me  remember  the  longing  I  have  for  my 
family  ties  hi  "this  hour  of  iny  happiness.  If  my  father 
could  only  lay  his  hand  upor*  i'iy  head  and  bid  me  "  God 
speed,"  or  Robert  could  be  at  my  side,  it  would  be  a  com- 
fort; but  I  must  be  content  with  what  good  I  can  get, 
and  love  my  husband  all  the  more  that  I  have  so  few  to 
love. 


CHAPTER    III. 

ROSE   HILL   AND   ITS  INMATES — JEAN'S  DIARY. 

December  12th.  Nearly  a  month  has  elapsed  since  I 
last  opened  my  diary, — but  a  month  so  full  of  interesting 
events  that  I  feel  as  if  it  h^d  been  a  lifetime.  I  can 
scarce  realize  that  I  am  the-js^ine  person  I  was  one  month 
ago.  I  stood  then  on  the.ibrink  of  an  unknown  world, 
doubting,  fearing,  wondering,-^— 

"But  the  silence  was  unbroken, 
And  the  darkness  gave  no  token." 

JSTow  how  differently  I  feel  from  the  little,  sober-looking 
bride,  in  her  sober,  gray  dress,  who  heard  the  "  dust  to 
dust,  and  ashes  to  ashes  "  of  her  maiden  life  pronounced, 
on  that  sunny  fall  morning,  in  the  little  church,  just  one 
mouth  ago!  I  suppose  every  woman  remembers  her 
marriage  with  peculiar  feelings.  If  it  turns  out  happily, 
she  dwells  with  a  tender  smile,  and  eyes  that  look  back 
far  into  the  past,  at  the  emotions  awakened  at  the  time ; 
remembers  the  strong  arm  which  supported  her  through 
it,  and  the  manly  strength  of  the  heart  upon  which  she 
has  leaned  ever  since, — to  her  it  was  the  development  of 
life, — the  door  opened  into  a  happy  futurity.  But  if  the 
life  begun  at  marriage  turns  out  unhappily,  she  thinks  of 
the  shiver  which  passed  over  her  at  what  she  regards 
now  as  the  funeral  of  her  life  of  careless  maidenhood,  an 

(21) 


22  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

impulse  to  leap  back  from  the  untried  future  into  the  tried 
past. 

I  do  not  know  what  sensations  I  shall  retain  longest, 
but  I  now  remember  the  agitation,  solemnity,  a  great 
deal  of  hope  not  unmixed  with  fear,  and  a  sensation  such 
as  I  have  heard  that  a  drowning  person  experiences, — a 
concentration  of  all  the  events  of  life  into  one  moment, — 
like  the  Giaour, — 

"When  in  one  moment  o'er  his  soul 
Winters  of  memory  seem  to  roll." 

I  seemed  to  be  taking  leave  of  my  childhood  for  the 
first  time,  my  plays  with  my  brother  and  cousins,  my 
mother's  death  and  all  of  its  consequent  troubles,  yet 
through  all  of  these  thoughts  I  did  not  lose  one  word 
of  what  the  minister  said ;  it  seemed  distinct,  clear,  and 
impressive  as  a  voice  from  heaven ;  then  it  was  over, 
and  I  was  no  longer  myself,  or  belonging  to  myself,  but 
more  valued  and  valuable  than  I  had  ever  been  before. 
Next  followed  that  journey  for  which  we  made  no  plans, 
but  only  went  where  our  will  carried  us.  It  was  made 
up  of  sparkling  cataracts,  journeys  over  mountains,  lodg- 
ings even  in  the  midst  of  the  clouds,  calm  sails  on  quiet 
waters,  rests  at  peaceful  farm-houses,  in  the  midst  of  the 
loveliness  of  nature,  and  every  now  and  then  a  dip  into 
society,  planting  friendships  for  future  cultivation,  in  all 
of  which  we  were  as  happy  as  any  other  two  people  ever 
were,  and  grew  to  know  each  other  better  each  day.  But 
the  time  came  when  this  holiday-life  must  end,  and  we 
turned  our  faces  homeward.  For  me  this  brought  a  pang, 
because,  first,  it  recalled  all  my  nervous  dread  of  my 
future,  and  because,  for  the  first  time  in  our  married  life, 
my  husband  and  I  felt  differently.  He  was  returning  to 
his  home  and  his  children,  secure  of  a  welcome ;  I  was  a 


ROSE  HILL  AND   ITS  INMATES.  23 

stranger,  and  in  all  probability  an  unwelcome  one ;  and 
yet  I  was  not  without  pleasurable  excitement.  It  is  a 
pleasure  to  have  a  home  to  go  to,  when  one  has  been  a 
waif,  a  stray  leaf,  tossed  about  by  winds  from  every 
quarter. 

Rose  Hill,  the  home  of  the  Holcombes  for  generations 
past,  is  situated  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains  of  the 
Blue  Ridge.  The  house  is  comparatively  modern,  but 
the  place  is  known  through  the  whole  country  as  one  of 
those  old  Virginian  estates,  passing  from  father  to  son" 
with  almost  the  regularity  of  entail.  The  negroes  have 
all  been  born  on  the  place,  and  have  a  hereditary  attach- 
ment to  their  masters.  It  struck  me  as  so  strange  before 
I  came  here  to  hear  Mr.  Holcombe  speaking  of  his 
"  Mammy."  I  never  could  help  laughing  at  it.  "  Yes," 
he  said,  one  day,  when  I  was  amusing  myself  at  his  ex- 
pense, "you  may  laugh  at  me,  but  you  will  have  to  pay 
her  the  most  profound  respect.  She  is  a  perfect  lady,  I 
can  tell  you,  and  a  highly-honored  inmate  of  my  house- 
hold. Why,  she  is  a  link  between  us  and  the  past ;  she 
has  nursed  all  the  children  of  the  two  last  generations, 
and  played  with  our  grandmothers,  and  has  paid  the 
last  offices  to  the  dead  of  the  family  for  the  last  forty-five 
years." 

"  Why,  how  old  is  she  ?" 

"Well,  no  one  knows  exactly,  but,  putting  together 
some  facts,  we  judge  she  must  be  nearly  seventy ;  but  she 
is  a  hale,  hearty  old  wroman  yet,  and  I  hope  will  live  to 
teach  us  what  old  times  were  for  many  years  to  come." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  I  should  think  it  very  disagreeable  to 
have  an  old  negress  thinking  herself  so  much  better  than 
any  one  else,  and  to  have  to  make  a  fuss  over  her  all  the 
time." 

"  Why,  my  dear  Jean,  you  cannot  imagine  a  more 


24  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

perfect  servant  in  everything  than  she  is.  She  recognizes 
her  position  entirely ;  the  smallest  nursling  is  miss  or 
master  ;  nor  does  she  feel  humiliated  by  it.  It  is  a  strange 
combination  of  the  perfect  lady  and  the  perfect  servant. 
Just  wait  until  you  see  her." 

The  town  of  C is  about  two  miles  from  Rose  Hill, 

and  here  the  carriage  met  us.  It  is  a  new  one,  bought 
for  the  young  bride,  though  1  do  not  at  all  realize  that  I 
am  she.  The  driver  and  footman  came  up,  showing  their 
white  teeth  by  way  of  welcome ;  and  here  too  I  was 
introduced  to  my  young  son.  He  was  first  discovered 
by  his  father  skulking  in  the  distance,  and  greeted  with, 
"  Why,  old  fellow,  what  are  you  doing  out  there,  hiding 
from  your  father?  Come  here,  I  have  something  to  show 
you, — a  present  I  have  brought  for  you."  But  Master 
John  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  the  gift,  whatever  it 
might  be,  and  still  stood  off  shyly,  with  his  fingers  in  his 
mouth. 

"What!  You  won't  come?  Well,  that  is  a  strange 
state  of  things  :  a  boy  refuses  to  kiss  his  father,  when  he 
has  been  away  more  than  a  month.  Unnatural  son  !  Ah, 
'  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to  have  a  thankless 
child!'  Well,  if  the  mountain  will  not  come  to  Moham- 
med, Mohammed  must  go  to  the  mountain."  And  so, 
after  a  little  struggle,  my  son  was  presented  to  me  with 
a  very  red  face,  upon  a  very  small  portion  of  the  cheek 
of  which  I  imprinted  my  maternal  kiss,  as  the  rest  was 
hidden  in  his  hands.  I  think  my  poor  husband  was  very 
much  mortified  at  this  little  episode,  as  he  said  to  me,  as 
we  got  in  the  carriage  out  of  hearing  of  the  child,  who 
preferred  to  ride  with  the  driver, — 

"  Ah,  little  woman,  you  see  how  we  all  want  you.  A 
man  makes  a  poor  out  of  bringing  up  a  parcel  of  children 


ROSE  HILL  AND  ITS  INMATES.  25 

without  help.  I  have  tried  to  do  my  best,  but  you  see 
how  it  is." 

I  tried  to  reassure  him  by  saying  that  I  did  not  think 
boys  ten  years  old  were  ever  very  remarkable  for  their 
manners,  and  I  had  no  doubt  we  would  get  on  finely  after 
awhile.  The  ride  home  through  the  woods  was  a  beau- 
tiful one.  Nature  had  certainly  favored  us  in  bestowing 
a  lovely  day.  The  sun  was  near  its  setting,  and  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  play  of  hide-and-seek  with  us  through  the 
openings  in  the  trees,  now  shooting  a  beam  into  our  very 
faces,  and  then  darting  off  to  hide  in  the  thickets.  At 
last,  the  road  leading  us  through  the  woods  into  the  open 
country,  we  came  at  once  into  full  view  of  the  grand 
old  place.  I  clasped  my  hands  in  delight  at  the  beauty 
of  the  scene. 

Surely  the  old  Holcombes  must  have  had  an  eye  for 
the  beautiful  in  selecting  the  site  of  their  home.  I  have 
never  seen  a  place  with  so  many  natural  advantages. 
The  grove,  out  of  which  we  had  just  driven,  fronted  the 
house,  and  now,  for  a  space  of  about  three  hundred  yards, 
spreads  a  perfectly  level  lawn,  around  which,  in  a  circle, 
runs  the  carriage-road.  The  lawn  stops  abruptly  at  the 
foot  of  a  hill,  which  is  terraced  in  three  separate  falls, 
each  of  which  is  ascended  by  steps  of  smooth  gray 
stone.  At  the  top  of  the  third  terrace,  upon  a  sort  of 
table-land,  in  the  midst  of  noble  old  forest-trees,  oak, 
chestnut,  elm,  and  locust,  stands  the  house,  which,  from 
its  proportions,  position,  etc.,  might  have  passed  for  some 
olden  castle,  with  its  white  walls  gleaming.  As  we  ap- 
proached it,  the  setting  sun  crowned  it  with  a  halo  of 
glory,  and  the  windows,  from  attic  to  basement,  caught  its 
rays,  and  sparkled  as  though  a  bonfire  had  been  kindled 
within  to  do  us  honor ;  while  in  the  distance  the  gorgeous 
flood  of  crimson  and  gold  impurpled  the  background  of 

3 


26  THE  HOLGOMBES. 

mountains,  which  reared  their  monstrous  forms,  peak 
after  peak,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

Several  persons  were  visible  as  we  approached :  one 
slight,  girlish  figure  stood  at  the  top  of  the  first  terrace, 
with  her  hand  shading  her  eyes ;  another,  as  soon  as  the 
carriage  drove  out  of  the  grove,  started  off  like  an  arrow 
from  the  bow  in  our  direction  ;  while  dusky  forms  were 
seen  either  appearing  or  disappearing  hastily  in  every 
direction.  It  was  like  the  moving  figures  in  a  panorama, 
only  more  full  of  life. 

Almost  before  I  had  time  to  ask  who  she  was,  the 
fleet-footed  little  girl  who  was  running  towards  us,  im- 
patiently pushing  past  the  footman  who  was  opening 
the  carriage-door,  clambered  into  the  carriage,  and  then 
threw  herself  into  her  father's  arms,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  I 
thought  you  were  never  coming,  papa  !"  And  this  was 
Mary,  as  I  found  from  my  husband's  greeting,  a  slender 
sprite  of  a  child,  with  dark  eyes,  and  hair  that  rippled 
and  glittered  in  the  light.  I  am  glad  that  in  these  late 
years  the  prejudice  against  red  hair  has  worn  away.  I 
believe  Eugene  Sue  and  the  Empress  of  France  are  to 
be  thanked  for  it.  To  me  it  was  always  unreasonable. 
I  remember  once  seeing  a  head  of  red  hair  (not  dark 
auburn,  but  genuine  red  hair)  pass  under  a  gaslight;  it 
was  at  a  wedding  in  a  church,  and  as  the  magnificent- 
looking  woman  with  these  rippling  waves  passed  where 
the  flood  of  light  fell  upon  it,  I  never  shall  forget  the 
effect;  it  looked,  indeed,  like  burnished  copper  glowing 
almost  to  red-heat.  I  have  looked  ever  since  for  a  sight 
like  that,  and  never  found  it  until  that  fairy-like  little 
figure  came  flying  down  the  road  with  those  golden  locks 
floating  in  the  wind,  with  her  cheeks  glowing  from  the 
exercise  and  her  eyes  dancing  with  delight;  she  was  a 
picture  well  worth  looking  upon. 


ROSE  HILL   AND   ITS  INMATES.  2T 

"  Why,  you  crazy  jade,  why  did  you  not  wait  for  us 
at  home  and  welcome  us  in  a  becoming  manner?" 

"  Oh,  papa,  you  know  I  never  can  wait.  It  was  so 
long,  and  I  thought  you  were  never  coming,  and  when 
I  saw  the  carriage  coming  out  of  the  grove  I  was  off 
before  I  well  knew  what  I  was  doing  " 

"  And  now  tell  me,"  said  her  father,  "  if  you  know 
who  this  is  sitting  by 'my  side  ?" 

The  bright  face  was  turned  to  me,  and  as  the  cold 
little  hands  crept  into  mine,  she  whispered  "  Mamma." 
It  was  very  sweetly  done,  and  I  already  felt  my  heart 
warm  and  melt  as  I  drew  her  to  me  and  imprinted  my 
first  kiss  upon  her  lips. 

The  introduction  was  just  over  when  the  carriage 
drew  up  to  the  foot  of  the  terraced  walk.  The  slight 
figure  I  had  first  remarked  in  the  distance  now  came 
forward,  and  submitted  to,  rather  than  received,  an  em- 
brace from  my  husband,  and  then  gave  me  the  coldest 
greeting  I  had  ever  received, — the  heart  just  warmed  by 
Mary's  lips  froze  to  its  center ;  and  yet  there  is  some- 
thing interesting,  while  it  repulses,  in  the  irregular  features 
and  sallow  complexion  of  Margaret  Holcombe.  She 
looks  to  me  as  if  she  were  putting  a  constraint  upon  her- 
self all  the  time, — as  if  there  was  a  fount  of  deep  feeling 
under  this  cold  exterior  which  could  be  warmed  into  life. 
My  mind  goes  back  ten  years,  and  I  see  jnst  such  a  wel- 
come given.  I  remember  now  the  image  of  my  dead 
mother  which  rose  up  between  me  and  the  lips  of  the 
woman  I  then  kissed  and  greeted  as  mother.  I  forgive 
Margaret  on  the  spot,  and  pray  God  that  I  may  never 
give  these  children  of  my  husband  such  cause  to  curse 
the  day  I  enter  their  father's  house  as  that  woman  gave 
me. 

The  last  introduction  was  received  beside  the  glowing 


28  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

fire  in  the  sitting-room,  where  two  soft  little  arms  stole 
around  my  neck  as  I  knelt  before  a  helpless  little  figure 
swathed  in  bright-colored  flannels,  above  which  appeared 
a  little  flaxen  head  with  spiritual  face;  it  was  baby  Lilias, 
— the  darling  of  the  household, — who  is  cherished  with 
the  tenderer  care  because  the  hand  of  God  is  laid  heavily 
upon  her.  A  fall  in  her  infancy  has  left  her  a  helpless 
charge  upon  her  friends, — but  such  a  charge  as  none  would 
shrink  from.  I  trust  that  I,  too,  may  be  permitted  to 
smooth  her  pathway  through  life.  I  feel  very  hopeful  in 
my  home,  there  is  so  much  to  make  me  happy,  and  such 
ample  room  for  a  life  of  usefulness  as  well  as  of  happi- 
ness. I  have  seen  the  old  Mammy  too,  a  stately  figure, 
with  a  bright  cotton  turban,  and  a  white  handkerchief 
pinned  across  her  breast.  I  was  met  by  a  low  curtsy, 
and  a  respectful  "  Welcome,  mistress,"  which  might  have 
graced  a  parlor.  I  was  a  little  annoyed  by  the  grinning 
faces  which  met  me  at  every  turn,  but  one  word  from  this 
old  queen  dispersed  the  crowd. 

"  Begone,  you  darkies  !  Dat  the  way  you  shows  your 
manners  to  your  new  mistress  ?  G'long  at  once !"  And  a 
scampering  followed,  which  cleared  the  halls  pretty  soon. 

She  then  led  the  way  to  my  room.  And  then  I  real- 
ized what  a  great  lady  I  had  become,  to  be  lodged  in  this 
lovely  apartment,  with  its  crimson  hangings,  rich  ma- 
hogany furniture,  and  the  luxurious  bed  with  its  tempting 
white  draperies, — over  which  the  bright  fire  on  the  hearth 
threw  a  cheerful  glow. 

Surely,  Jean  Holcombe,  "  your  lines  are  fallen  to  you 
in  pleasant  places."  Mrs.  Bascombe  is  a  pretty  old  lady, 
part  housekeeper  and  part  teacher ;  she  seems  a  model  of 
good  temper,  but  not  one,  I  should  judge,  to  fill  the  place 
of  governess  to  such  a  family  as  this.  Her  dignity  is  so 
completely  a  creature  of  the  moment,  that  it  is,  if  one  may 


ROSE  HILL   AND   ITS  INMATES.  29 

so  express  it,  a  stiff  impulse ;  and  I  judge  that  she  has 
been  too  much  a  subject  of  amusement  with  the  children 
to  have  much  influence  over  them.  Mr.  Holcombe  says 
I  shall  keep  her  as  an  assistant  in  the  housekeeping ;  and 
he  has  employed  a  tutor  for  the  children,  who  will  arrive 
the  first  of  January.  A  teacher  of  music  comes  out  from 

C every  other  day,  and  they  seem  to  have  so  much 

talent  for  music  that  their  performance  is  beyond  medi- 
ocrity,— though  I  have  no  idea  that  it  is  due  to  any 
especial  diligence. 

Well,  I  have  before  me  now  the  materials  for  my  life's 
work.  I  thank  God  I  have  only  to  do  my  duty  and  leave 
results  to  Him  !  I  am  glad  I  do  not  look  upon  it  in  the 
light  of  a  trial,  neither  altogether  of  a  pleasure,  but  a 
wholesome  mixture  of  the  two.  I  see  my  difficulties, 
and  I  see  the  way  out  of  them  to  be  a  straightforward, 
gentle  firmness,  and  a  great  reliance  for  guidance  on  an 
arm  which  is  stronger  than  mine. 


3* 


CHAPTER   IV. 
MARGARET'S  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS. 

December  13th.  The  long-dreaded  event  has  actually 
taken  place.  I  have  lived  to  see  my  dear  mamma's  place 
filled  in  this  house  by  one  so  different;  and  no  one  seems 
to  do  anything  but  rejoice,  except  myself.  For  the  last 
month  everything  has  been  a  note  of  preparation ;  the 
whole  house  torn  to  pieces.  Painters  and  upholsterers 
at  every  turn, — new  carriage,  new  furniture,  new  paint- 
ings,— everything  new  and  beautiful  for  the  new  bride. 
Surely  it  seems  to  me  that  what  was  good  enough  for 
my  mamma  might  have  answered  for  Jean  Murray. 

The  children  provoke  me  so ;  they  seem  altogether 
delighted  with  this  new  toy;  but  children  all  live  in  the 
present ;  I  sometimes  wish  I  could  too.  I  wonder  how 
mamma  would  like  me  to  act !  I  am  sure,  if  she  can  sec 
us,  she  would  not  like  to  think  that  we  had  all  forgotten 
her,  and  allowed  her  to  be  supplanted  in  our  hearts,  as 
well  as  in  papa's,  and  our  home.  No  !  I  must  be  true 
to  her  in  spite  of  everything.  Yes ;  in  spite  even  of  the 
loss  of  dear  papa's  affection,  which  I  see  will  be  the  con- 
sequence. The  evening  he  came  I  saw,  as  he  got  out  of 
the  carriage,  that  he  was  so  anxious  to  see  how  I  would 
conduct  m)7self ;  and  it  seems  to  me  this  perverse  spirit, 
which  has  possession  of  me,  made  me  as  cold  as  a  stone 
to  him  first,  and  then  to  his  wife.  Now,  surely,  there 
was  no  necessity  for  that,— I  ought  to  have  been  affection- 
(30) 


MARGARET'S  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS.  31 

ate  to  him ;  but,  oh !  to  see  him  that  way  with  a  wife 
beside  him,  just  seemed  to  bring  mamma  up  out  of  her 
grave, — she  rose  up  before  me  as  plainly  as  in  life.  I  know 
Mrs.  Holcombe  saw  it  all,  she  was  looking  so  happy 
when  the  carriage  drove  up,  and  she  turned  quite  pale ; 
but  papa  turned  away  from  me,  and  put  his  arm  around 
her  and  led  her  in, — and  in  another  moment,  I  have  no 
doubt,  she  forgot  my  existence.  And,  oh  !  her  childish 
delight  with  everything,  Mary  herself  could  not  have 
been  more  demonstrative  ;  I  think  it  is  so  undignified  to 
express  so  much.  It  was,  "  Oh,  how  beautiful !  how 
bright !  how  lovely  !  how  kind  !  how  comfortable  !"  at 
every  step.  And  there  was  even  old  Mammy,  deceitful 
old  thing,  bowing  and  scraping  and  doing  the  honors, 
and  papa  looking  as  if  she  was  the  most  enchanting  thing 
that  ever  had  lived, — and  the  children  dancing  round, — 
even  Lilias  chirping  her  delight  from  her  cha-ir, — until  I 
was  sick  of  it  all,  and  ran  off  to  indulge  in  a  few  tears  in 
my  own  room. 

When  I  went  down  to  tea,  there  were  more  aggrava- 
tions :  in  the  first  place,  there  she  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  trying  to  look  diffident,  and  as  if  she  was  not  old 
enough  to  have  poured  out  tea  any  number  of  years,  and 
papa,  with  not  a  ray  of  recollection  of  the  past  in  his  face, 
looking  perfectly  happy.  It  made  me  sick,  but  no  one 
cared  if  I  was, — no  one  even  saw  that  my  eyes  were  red. 
It  is  a  great  misfortune  to  have  such  keen  sensibilities,  one 
suffers  so  much  less  when  they  can  forget.  Once  during  tea 
she  turned  to  me  and  said,  with  such  a  would-be  sweet 
air,  "  I  suppose,  Margaret,  I  have  you  to  thank  for  the 
arrangement  of  my  beautiful  room ;  it  does  you  great 
credit."  I  said,  "You  are  mistaken,  madam;  I  have  not 
even  seen  it.  I  suppose  Mrs.  Bascombe  and  Mammy  did 
it."  I  felt  papa's  eyes  on  me  reproachfully,  but  I  did  not 


32  THE  110  L  COMBES. 

look  that  way,  and  no  one  said  anything  more.  Of  course 
she  thinks  I  am  very  rude,  but  I  was  obliged  to  be  truthful, 
and  besides,  I  do  not  think  she  ought  to  have  expected 
me  to  fix  for  her.  She  must  think  I  am  quite  destitute 
of  feeling. 

I  think  she  has  a  great  deal  of  taste  in  dress,  everything 
she  wears  is  of  such  soft,  pretty  colors.  This  morning  she 
came  out,  looking  really  pretty,  in  a  flowing,  white  Cash- 
mere morning-dress,  with  blue  trimmings.  Never  mind, 
my  lady,  by  the  time  you  have  to  come  out  and  go  down 
to  the  dairy,  and  skim  the  cream  and  attend  to  the  butter, 
and  see  the  chickens  fed,  etc.,  you  will  get  out  of  your 
white  Cashmere  and  blue  trimmings.  It  does  me  good  to 
think  of  the  time  when  a  calico  wrapper  and  white  apron 
will  be  more  suitable.  Never  mind,  when  I  am  married 
I  shall  not  marry  a  farmer,  to  be  a  slave  to  his  negroes. 
I  will  marry  a  lawyer  and  live  in  town.  And  I  am  going 
to  have  beautiful  clothes, — I  think  crimson  will  suit  me 
better  than  blue,  I  have  so  little  color.  I  wish  I  was 
beautiful !  I  would  rather  be  beautiful  than  anything 
else.  What  difference  does  it  make  about  a  woman's 
having  sense,  every  one  admires  the  pretty  ones  most  ? 
Never  mind,  maybe  I  will  be  like  the  ugly  duck,  and  turn 
out  a  swan  at  last. 

I  had  a  chance  of  making  her  feel  badly  once  again 
to-day.  Mary  came  running  in  with  a  writing-desk, 
crying,  "  Oh,  Margie,  just  look  what  mamma  has  brought 
you  !  just  the  very  thing  you  wanted."  I  said,  "  Take  it 
back,  Mary,  and  tell  your  mamma  I  would  rather  not  take 
it ;  she  had  better  give  it  to  you."  I  did  not  find  the  satis- 
faction in  this  that  I  expected,  because  I  did  want  the 
writing-desk  dreadfully,  and  really  could  have  cried  when 
I  saw  Mary  with  it  afterwards ;  and  then,  too,  they 
brought  a  quantity  of  delicious-looking  candy;  but  I  would 


MARGARET'S  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS.  33 

not  touch  it.  Now,  if  I  have  a  weakness  in  the  world  it 
is  for  candy,  particularly  sugar-almonds,  and  it  required  a 
great  deal  of  self-denial  not  to  take  some  ;  but  of  course  I 
should  despise  myself  if  I  could  be  inconsistent  or  submit 
to  a  bribe.  But,  oh  !  I  would  give  anything  if  papa  would 
only  show  me  some  attention, — if  he  would  only  see  how 
I  suffer  ;  but  he  does  not.  To  be  sure,  be  kisses  as  usual, 
but  there  is  a  constraint  about  him,  and  it  makes  me  very 
miserable  ;  but  of  course  I  cannot  give  up.  I  heard  them 
talking  to-day  about  the  arrangements  for  us.  Papa  is 
going  to  employ  a  tutor,  and  Mrs.  Bascombe  is  to  be  de- 
posed, but  retained  as  an  assistant  for  this  new  angel  who 
has  just  come  down  from  heaven  into  our  midst.  My 
poor  mamma  never  had  an  assistant,  she  had  to  do  every- 
thing herself;  but  she  was  worth  two  such  as  this  one. 
I  tell  you,  a  woman  had  better  hold  on  to  her  life  if  she 
don't  want  to  be  forgotten. 

She  remonstrated  a  little  about  having  any  one  to  help 
her;  but  papa  said,  "You  know,  dear,  you  are  not 
accustomed  to  our  Virginia  country-life,  and  you  would 
be  lost  in  the  maze  of  things  to  be  done.  One  day  would 
settle  you,  I  think.  By  the  time  Aunt  Peggy  has  run 
after  the  food  for  the  chickens,  and  Bob  has  been  to  see 
if  he  must  kill  that  calf,  and  Sucky  to  '  git  out  the  clof  to 
mek  dem  boys'  cloths,'  and  Mammy  to  suggest  that  you 
go  down  and  see  what  ails  Chloe's  baby,  and  I  put  in 
my  tongue  about  having  my  dinner  ready  in  time,  and 

the  children "  but  she  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth, 

and  laughed  so  gleefully  that  I  almost  forgot,  and  joined 
her.  Papa  is  so  funny,  he  can  talk  so  exactly  like  each 
one  of  the  servants ;  but  I  was  determined  not  to  be 
surprised  again,  so  I  got  up  and  went  out,  and  left  the 
young  people  to  have  their  play  out,  though  I  should 
really  have  enjoyed  hearing  papa  talk  longer.  I  believe  I 


34  THE  HO L  COMBES. 

would  think  she  was  right  sweet  if  she  was  not  what 
she  is. 

We  are  going  to  have  quite  a  round  of  gayety,  I 
believe,  in  honor  of  the  bride.  I  wonder  they  are  not  all 
ashamed  of  themselves, — they  used  to  pretend  to  be  so 
devoted  to  mamma.  Carriages  have  been  rolling  up  all 

day.    It  seems  to  me  that  the  whole  of  C must  have 

called.  Mrs.  Campbell, — I  expected  that, — then  the 
Grahams,  the  Tuckers,  the  Clarkes,  the  Dandridges,  etc. 

I  did  not  know  there  were  so  many  carriages  in  C -. 

I  looked  as  miserable  as  I  could,  until  I  heard  that  hate- 
ful Sarah  Clarke  whisper,  "  Did  you  ever  see  such  an  ill- 
tempered  face?  I  think  it  is  well  Mrs.  Holcombe  did 
not  see  her  before  she  accepted  the  position ;  it  might 
have  altered  matters."  After  that  I  went  up-stairs,  and 
stayed  by  myself  until  Mammy  brought  me  some  cake 
and  cordial.  I  did  not  ask  who  sent  it,  as  I  wanted  it  so 
much  ;  and  if  she  had,  I  could  not  have  eaten  it,  of 
course.  It  is  rather  a  melancholy  thought  that  I  am  to 
live  this  way  all  my  life  ;  but  it  is  not  my  fault.  I  can- 
not ever  be  very  certain  what  mamma  would  wish.  At 
any  rate,  I  have  begun  this  way,  and  I  must  keep  on. 
So  it  is  no  use  to  torment  myself  about  the  right  and 
wrong  of  it.  I  was  born  under  an  unlucky  star,  and  so 
will  always  be  miserable ;  and  I  might  as  well  make  up 
my  mind  to  it. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  MARY   HOLCOMfiE,    LADIES   AND   GENTLEMEN." 

December  15th.  Mamma  wants  me  to  keep  a  diary. 
She  says  it  will  improve  me  in  every  respect.  She  says 
that  a  diary  is  not  meant  for  anybody  to  see  but  myself; 
that  it  is  a  turning  my  heart  inside  out.  She  says  that  I 
must  put  into  my  diary  everything  I  think ;  and,  if  I  am 
very  particular  never  to  put  anything  I  do  not  really 
think,  it  will  help  me  to  be  true  to  myself,  because  I 
would  not  like  to  put  anything  down  in  writing  as  my 
real  feeling,  and  then  talk  another  way.  I  don't  know  how 
to  say  it  exactly;  but  she  made  it  very  plain  to  me  that 
if  I  was  true  to  myself  I  would  be  true  to  everybody 
else,  and  a  diary  is  to  be  a  help  to  me.  I  told  her  I 
did  not  know  how  to  begin ;  and  she  says  she  thinks  I 
might  talk  a  little  about  myself  as  far  back  as  I  remem- 
ber ;  that  it  will  be  interesting  to  me,  hereafter,  to  read 
over  what  I  did  and  thought  when  I  was  a  little  child.  I 
have  not  had  a  very  interesting  childhood,  except  mam- 
ma's death.  I  never  was  very  ill,  that  I  remember.  Nobody 
was  ever  very  unkind  to  me,  though  Mrs.  Bascombe  did 
use  to  scold  Johnny  and  me  right  much  sometimes  when 
we  would  go  off  to  the  woods  and  play  instead  of  getting 
our  lessons;  but  I  don't  think  reading  these  kind  of 
things  would  be  very  interesting  to  me  when  I  get  a 
woman,  as  it  would  only  make  me  remember  that  I  had 
not  been  a  very  good  child,  which  would  not  be  pleasant. 
I  think  I  should  like  to  write  a  little  about  mamma's 

(35) 


36  THE  HO L  COMBES. 

death.  I  shall  always  remember  that,  though,  without 
any  help  from  anything.  It  happened  three  years  ago, 
and  I  was  such  a  little  tiling,  which  I  suppose  is  the 
reason  I  did  not  know  it  w.as  going  to  happen, — for  she 
had  been  sick  for  a  long  time.  I  did  not  know  anything 
much  about  death,  though  I  saw  that  little  baby  of  Aunt 
Holly's  die  down  at  the  cabins ;  but  it  just  looked  to  me 
as  if  it  was  asleep. 

Well,  I  used  to  take  mamma's  breakfast  to  her  every 
morning,  and  Johnny  and  I  would  sit  by  her  while  she 
ate  it.  I  saw  how  pale  and  thin  she  was  growing,  and 
how  her  pretty  rings  would  slip  backward  and  forward 
on  her  hand,  and  then  she  could  not  get  up  out  of  bed  at 
all.  And  then  that  night  that  Mammy  came  and  woke 
us  up  out  of  our  sleep  and  took  us  into  her  room,  and  she 
was  lying  there  so  pale,  with  her  eyes  so  big  and  bright, 
and  papa  was  holding  her  up  on  his  arm,  and  Margie  was 
sobbing  and  crying  by  the  bed,  and  all  the  servants  were 
crying,  too.  I  did  not  know  what  it  all  meant  at  first, 
until  she  said,  so  low  we  could  hardly  hear,  "  My  little 
children,  you  will  soon  have  no  mother ;  God  is  going 
to  take  me  to  heaven  to  live  with  Him  ;  you  must  all  be 
good  children  and  try  and  meet  me  there, — and  don't 
forget  to  be  good,  obedient  children  to  your  father,  and 
love  and  take  care  of  our  clear  little  Lilias."  Then  she 
kissed  us  all,  and  Johnny  and  myself  cried  so  that  we  had 
to  be  taken  out  and  put  to  bed,  and  Mammy  told  us  in 
the  morning  that  mamma  was  dead ;  and  when  we  saw 
her  she  was  lying  so  still,  with  flowers  in  her  white  hand  ; 
but  I  did  not  feel  as  if  it  was  my  mamma,  and  was  afraid 
to  touch  her,  and  we  never  have  seen  her  since. 

After  that  Mrs.  Bascombe  came  to  take  care  of  us  and 
teach  us  ;  but  it  was  not  like  mamma  did.  Papa  says 
Johnny  and  I  have  been  running  wild,  and  I  expect  we 


"MARY  HOLCOMBE,  LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN."  37 

have.  I  know  I  wish  I  was  a  boy,  it  is  such  a  trouble 
to  be  a  girl,  and  have  to  have  skirts  hanging  round  you 
all  the  time ;  I  never  can  go  out  with  Johnny  without 
tearing  something,  and  once  I  was  very  much  hurt  by 
my  dress  catching  on  the  limb  of  a  tree  and  throwing  me 
down.  Mrs.  Bascombe  says  it  was  a  mercy  I  was  not 
killed,  and  all  the  fault  of  these  skirts.  I  used  to  beg 
Mammy  to  let  me  wear  Johnny's  pants  sometimes;  but 
she  was  very  much  shocked  and  said  it  was  unlady-like, 
and  the  Bible  said  I  must  not  do  it,  so  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  keep  a  girl  to  the  end  of  my  life. 

I  don't  think  it  will  be  so  hard  now  I  have  a  new 
mamma.  I  like  to  stay  in  the  house  better,  and  so  does 
Johnny,  though  he  would  not  speak  to  her  at  first ;  but  he 
loves  her  now  very  much.  When  Margie  told  me  first 
that  papa  was  going  to  bring  home  a  new  mamma  for  us, 
I  don't  think  I  was  very  glad, — it  seemed  so  dreadful  to 
have  two  mammas ;  but  then  I  thought  how  much  we  all 
needed  some  one  to  take  care  of  us,  and  I  thought  papa 
would  not  do  it  if  it  was  not  best ;  and  then  he  told  us 
how  sweet  she  was,  and  how  she  would  love  us  all,  and 
so  I  liked  it  before  she  came,  and  now  I  love  her  dearly. 

But,  oh  !  Margie  behaves  so  badly,  I  think ;  she  won't 
have  anything  to  do  with  her, — -just  stays  in  her  own 
room  all  the  time.  And  the  day  after  she  came,  when 
I  took  her  a  beautiful  new  writing-desk  mamma  had 
brought  her,  she  said,  so  crossly,  "  She  would  not  have  it ; 
I  might  take  it  back  and  tell  her  to  give  it  to  me."  I  did 
not  like  to  go  back,  it  seemed  so  ungrateful  in  Margie ; 
but  at  last  I  had  to  do  it,  and  tell  her  what  she  said.  I 
saw  the  tears  come  into  her  eyes ;  and  papa,  who  was  in 
there,  was  very  angry,  and  said  he  must  speak  to  Margie 
about  the  way  she  was  behaving;  but  mamma  caught 
him  by  the  arm  /and  said,  "  Dear,  for  my  sake,  don't  do 

4 


38  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

it;  leave  her  alone,  she  will  get  over  it  after  awhile  :  she 
is  suffering  now  you  may  depend  upon  it,  poor  child ;  all 
will  come  right  after  awhile."  And  he  kissed  her  and  said 
she  was  the  blessing  of  his  life, — then  she  gave  the 
writing-desk  to  me,  and  I  am  writing  on  it  now. 

I  wish  Margie  would  not  do  so,  she  looks  so  unhappy, 
and  mamma  tried  so  to  make  us  happy, — it  is  the  only 
thing  which  keeps  us  from  being  so.  She  sits  at  the  table 
and  never  speaks  a  word,  and  will  not  even  eat  what 
mamma  is  helping  to.  I  can  see  that  papa  is  so  angry 
sometimes ;  but  his  promise  to  mamma  keeps  him  from 
speaking. 

We  are  to  have  a  gentleman  teacher  the  first  of  next 
month,  and  I  am  to  begin  Latin  with  Johnny,  and  Eddy 
and  George  Holcombe  arc  to  come  here  to  school.  They 
are  to  come  with  their  father  and  mother  at  Christmas. 
Papa  is  determined  to  have  a  family  meeting  ;  I  know  it 
is  just  to  show  mamma  to  them  all,  he  is  so  proud  of 
her, — we  will  have  a  nice  time  I  know. 

Mamma  is  so  kind  to  little  Lilias,  she  has  had  her  little 
bed  put  in  her  room,  and  every  night  she  undresses  her 
and  rocks  her  in  her  lap.  Lilias  remembered  that  mamma 
used  to  do  that,  and  asked  her  if  she  would.  I  am  sure 
if  our  dear  mamma  can  see  us  from  her  home  in  heaven, 
she  is  glad  that  her  poor  little  children  have  some  one 
to  take  care  of  and  love  them. 

It  was  funny  to  see  how  shy  Johnny  was  at  first ;  if 
mamma  spoke  to  him  his  face  would  get  red,  and  he 
would  look  as  if  he  wanted  to  run  away  ;  but  since  she 
gave  him  the  pretty-colored  ball  and  the  candy  he  liked 
to  stay  with  her.  I  don't  mean  he  liked  her  for  what  she 
gives  him,  exactly,  but  that  certainly  did  begin  it. 

Mammy  likes  mamma,  too;  she  said  at  first,  when 
she  heard  papa  was  going  to  be  married,  she  was  sorry ; 


"MARY  HOLCOMBE,  LADIES  AND   GENTLEMEN."    39 

but  now  she  knows  "  the  Lord  sent  her  here  to  take  care 
of  Miss  Catherine's  children."  Manima  is  from  the  North 
of  England,  and  that  is  the  way  her  name  comes  to  be 
Jean.  She  was  named  after  her  Scottish  grandmother. 
I  wish,  some  of  these  days,  she  would  tell  me  some- 
thing about  her  life  over  there.  I  wonder  if  the  little 
children  play  with  doll-babies  as  they  do  over  in  this 
country, — I  reckon  not,  though,  way  over  in  England.  I 
don't  expect  they  ever  heard  of  doll-babies. 

I  think  mamma  is  very  good ;  she  went  down  on  Sun- 
day to  the  negro  quarters  and  read  to  the  people.  I  went 
with  her,  and  she  did  look  so  pretty  and  nice  in  her  soft, 
blue  dress,  and  with  her  pretty  light  hair,  among  the 
black  people.  They  looked  blacker,  and  she  looked 
whiter,  than  usual ;  they  sang  one  of  their  hymns  for  her, 
and  she  looked  right  scared  when  they  holloed  out  so 
loud ;  it  sounded  like  they  were  going  to  take  the  top  off 
of  the  cabin ;  and  then  Uncle  Armstead  prayed  and  the 
people  cried,  and  I  was  scared  too.  After  that  mamma 
and  I  came  away,  and  she  said  so  seriously,  as  if  she  had 
been  thinking  of  it  before  she  spoke,  "  And  yet  the  spirit 
of  God  may  be  as  truly  there  as  within  marble  walls."  I 
asked  her  what  she  thought  of  the  way  they  did,  and  she 
said,  "  It  seems  very  strange  to  me,  dear,  because  I  never 
saw  anything  of  the  kind  before  ;  but  I  shall  get  used  to 
it  after  awhile  ;  some  things  puzzle  me  very  much."  She 
did  not  tell  me  what  they  were,  though  I  longed  to  ask. 

Well,  I  have  written  a  long  piece  in  my  diary,  and  I 
have  forgotten  to  divide  the  days  as  I  write.  I  com- 
menced December  15th,  and  this  is  December  20th,  so  I 
have  been  five  days.  I  think  I  will  like  it  very  much, 
though  I  find  it  so  hard  to  say  what  I  want.  Mamma 
says  I  need  language  and  this  will  help  me  to  acquire  it. 
Margie  has  been  keeping  a  diary  for  four  or  five  years  ; 


40  THE  HO L  COMBES. 

but  she  is  a  great  deal  smarter  than  I  am.  I  wish  I  knew 
what  she  writes  about.  I  am  so  glad  next  week  my 
aunts,  uncles,  and  cousins  will  be  here.  I  think  mamma 
is  not  altogether  glad, — she  is  a  little  afraid.  I  do  not 
wonder ;  it  must  be  dreadful  to  have  a  parcel  of  people 
you  never  saw  come  to  look  at  you  and  see  if  they  like  you. 
I  am  afraid  I  should  run  off  in  the  woods  with  Johnny 
and  hide;  that  is  the  way  we  used  to  do  when  we  knew 
Mrs.  Bascombe  was  going  to  scold  us. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

LETTER    FROIVJ   JEAN    TO   HER   BROTHER. 

"  ROSE  HILL,  Dec.  20th. 

"DEAR  ROBERT, — I  have  been  intending  to  write  to  you 
ever  since  rny  arrival  in  my  new  borne,  but  have  been 
too  much  engaged  with  my  introduction  to  my  new 
duties,  and  becoming  acquainted  not  only  with  the  mem- 
bers of  my  own  household,  but  my  neighbors,  among  whom 
I  shall  .find,  I  think,  some  very  pleasant  acquaintances. 

"  I  only  wish,  dear  Robert,  you  could  be  here  with  me, 
even  with  my  husband  by  my  side.  I  want  some  of  my 
own  kindred.  Just  to  think,  since  Aunt  Jean's  death, 
there  is  not  a  drop  of  my  blood  in  the  veins  of  any 
human  being  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic.  I  am  sorry  I 
said  that,  on  my  own  account.  It  is  a  strange,  sad  view 
of  the  case,  which  never  struck  me  so  forcibly  as  at  this 
moment,  and  such  floods  of  loneliness  rush  upon  me 
that  they  threaten  to  overwhelm  me.  In  the  midst  of 
husband,  children,  and  friends,  I  am  utterly  alone ;  and 
though  I  would  not  exchange  my  lot  with  any  human 
being  in  the  world, — I  am  as  happy  as  I  can  be,  and  have 
so  much  to  be  thankful  for, — yet  there  is  a  void,  an 
aching  want ;  it  is  as  if  the  hands  of  my  heart  were 
stretching  across  the  barriers  of  time  and  space,  and  I 
cry  out  for  some  link  to  my  childhood,  some  one  to  whom 
I  could  say,  'Do  you  remember?' 

"  My  husband,  in  his  tender  kindness  and  watchfulness, 
sees  all  this,  and  feels  for  me.  He  unites  with  me  in 

4*  ( 41  ) 


42  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

earnest  entreaty,  that  you  will  come  to  see  me.  If  you 
only  would  ;  and,  oh!  if  I  could  hope  that  father  would 
come  too, — that  I  should  ever  see  him  again  !  It  was  a 
cruel  necessity  which  banished  me  from  my  home,  though 
I  would  not  have  it  different.  And  you  will  smile  when 
I  tell  you  that  the  reason  I  have  for  being  willing  to  look 
upon  my  sufferings  as  a  blessing  in  disguise  is,  that  if  I 
had  remained  at  '  Glen  Burnie'  I  should  never  have 
seen  Mr.  Holcombe.  Don't  be  alarmed,  I  am  not  going  to 
be  sentimental. 

"I  know  you  want  to  know  how  I  am  situated,  etc. 
Well,  my  home  is  beautiful,  but  not  at  all  like  '  Glen 
Burnie.'  My  early  associations  are  of  lovely  valleys, 
murmuring  streams,  and  plays  under  sheltering  hills. 
But  now  I  have  gone  up  into  the  clouds.  I  seem  to  over- 
look everything.  The  place  is  perfectly  beautiful.  Mr. 
Holcombe's  first  wife  must  have  been  a  person  of  a  great 
deal  of  taste,  as  the  grounds  are  laid  off  beautifully. 
Mr.  Holcombe  himself  takes  the  greatest  pride  in  it.  I 
tell  him  that  I  believe  the  strongest  feeling  of  his  nature 
is  for  this  home.  But  he  says  no, — wife  and  children 
come  first,  then  Rose  Hill.  Have  you  ever  tried  to 
imagine,  Robert,  your  little  Jean  acting  mamma  to  four 
children?  I  cannot  tell  you  how  well  I  do  it,  but  I  wish 
you  would  come  and  give  me  the  testimony  of  an  eye- 
witness. Strange  to  say,  they  have  their  places  in  my 
heart  already. 

"  Margaret,  the  eldest,  is  fifteen.  I  do  not  know  her  so 
well  as  the  others,  she  is  more  shy  with  me,  does  not 
reconcile  herself  to  my  being  here  so  readily.  I  suppose 
because  she  is  older  and  has  a  more  vivid  recollection  of 
her  own  mother.  She  is  not  pretty,  and  yet  there  is  a 
strange  interest  about  her.  Her  face  is  full  of  intellect, 
hidden  feeling,  and  undeveloped  sentiment.  She  gives  vent 


LETTER  FROM  JEAN  TO  HER  BROTHER.         43 

to  it  now  with  all  the  exaggeration  of  her  years ;  but  as 
time  rolls  on  and  separates  in  her  mind  the  true  from  the 
false,  the  real  from  the  seeming, — when  she  is  able  to 
define  clearly  to  herself  what  her  real  sentiments  and 
feelings  are,  she  will  develop  into  no  ordinary  woman. 
This  I  learn  from  her  face,  for  I  have  had  very  little  inter- 
course with  her,  and  have  not  yet  been  able  to  break  the 
barrier  of  ice  which  surrounds  her  whenever  I  approach, 
or  attempt  to  approach,  the  citadel  of  her  heart. 

"Mary,  the  second,  is  a  bright,  beautiful  little  sprite, 
an  Adrienne  de  Cardoville  in  appearance,  an  untamed, 
but  not  untamable,  gazelle-like  child,  full  of  warm  feelings 
and  fine  impulses,  and  very  much  devoted  to  '  mamma.' 

"  John,  my  only'  son,  is  decidedly  a  diamond  in  the 
rough.  You  would  call  him  a  cub.  I  say  he  is  like  most 
boys  of  ten  I  have  seen,  who  think  more  of  animal  grati- 
fication than  anything  else,  and  the  road  to  whose  heart 
lies  straight  through  their  stomachs ;  he  has  good  material 
to  work  upon,  and  plenty  of  will  and  energy,  a  perfect 
boy  in  taste  and  feeling,  even  to  the  feeling  of  superiority 
to  our  sex. 

"But  Lilias,  the  little  flower  hanging  on  a  broken 
stalk,  has  taken  the  tenderest  hold  on  my  heart.  She 
will  never  walk,  Robert,  owing  to  an  injury  to  her  spine, 
caused  by  a  fall.  She  is  often  a  great  sufferer,  though 
they  tell  me  for  months  she  seems  well ;  languor,  how- 
ever, she  suffers  from  always,  and  she  is  utterly  depend- 
ent upon  the  tenderness  of  those  around  her ;  a  cross 
word  spoken  even  to  another  makes  her  so  tremulous 
that  she  has  to  be  soothed  into  quietness  again.  The 
night  I  got  here  I  bad  her  in  my  arms,  and  she  whispered, 
'  Will  you  undress  me,  and  rock  me,  as  my  own  mamma 
used  to  do  ?'  No  one  heard  her,  and  I  established  myself 
as  head  nurse  at  once ;  and  truly  it  has  been  a  labor  of 


44  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

love.  I  unswathe  the  poor  feeble  little  frame  every  night, 
and  with  the  pale  little  cheek  close  against  my  heart,  I 
sing  to  her  lullabies  our  mother  used  to  sing  to  us.  And 
in  that  hour  she  always  seems  to  come  back  and  sit  with 
me  there;  it  is  almost  my  sweetest  hour  during  the  day. 
Of  course,  all  remonstrate  against  my  taking  this  duty 
upon  myself,  but  I  would  not  resign  it  to  any  one  in  the 
world. 

"  The  most  important  person  in  the  family,  not  excepting 
Mr.  Holcombe,  I  think,  is  the  old  Mammy.  I  believe  her 
name  is  Judy,  though  she  is  never  called  anything  but 
'  Mammy.' 

"  Imagine  a  very  ugly  old  woman — yes,  she  is  certainly, 
though  I  should  not  like  to  say  so  to' Mr.  Holcombe,  and 
I  really  believe  the  children  think  she  is  beautiful — with 
the  blackest  face  you  ever  saw,  surmounted  by  a  turban 
of  bright-colored  cotton.  A  dress  of  striped  linse\'- 
woolsey,  with  a  check  apron,  and  a  white  cotton  handker- 
chief pinned  across  her  breast.  Mr.  H.  says  she  has 
nursed  the  past  two  generations,  and  played  with  our 
grandmothers ;  and  certainly  Ihey  do  reward  her  for  it. 
She  only  does  what  she  pleases,  which  is  to  rub  the  silver 
and  darn  the  stockings,  and  occasionally  to  do  up  a  piece 
of  lace  or  muslin.  But  if  there  is  a  spell  of  sickness  in 
the  family,  she  is  never  known  to  sleep.  Of  course,  he 
says,  she  must,  but  it  is  sitting  by  the  bedside  of  the 
patient.  No  office  is  beyond  her  there.  She  takes  the 
whole  duties  upon  herself.  When  Mr.  Holcombe's 
mother  died,  one  of  her  last  requests  was  that,  when 
Mammy's  time  came,  she  should  have  a  neat  coffin,  and 
a  hearse,  and  be  carried  to  the  grave  by  the  children  she 
has  been  so  faithful  to.  He  says  she  was  delighted,  as 
there  is  nothing  they  think  so  much  of  as  a  'pretty 
burying.'  Their  habits  in  this  respect,  by-the-by,  are 


LETTER  FROM  JEAN  TO   HER   BROTHER.         45 

very  funny.  My  maid,  on  Sunday  last,  asked  permission 
to  go  to  the  funeral  of  her  father,  \vho  had  been  dead 
sixteen  years !  They  seem  to  keep  these  little  last  offices 
until  there  is  a  danger  of  their  forgetting  their  friends, 
and  then  call  them  back  to  memory  by  having  the 
funeral.  Is  it  not  strange?  But  what  strikes  me  is  the 
numbers  there  are  about  the  house.  Think  of  having  six 
women  for  a  family  of  eight  or  nine  people,  and  that  is 
besides  the  washerwoman  and  trie  cook !  I  have  my 
maid,  who  is  to  do  nothing  but  my  pleasure.  Lilias  has 
her  nurse,  who  is  always  at  hand,  either  sitting  by  her 
with  her  work  or  pushing  her  chair.  Margaret  and  Mary 
have  their  maid  ;  and  then  there  is  another  who  cleans 
the  house  generally  ;  and  a  little  girl  to  run  on  errands ; 
and,  besides,  there  is  a  man  in  the  dining-room,  with  a 
boy  to  help  him. 

"Will  I  ever  get  used  to  these  black  people?  They 
are  a  continual  source  of  wonder  to  me.  The  grown  ones 
are  bad  enough,  but  the  children  are  worse.  They  look 
like  monkeys.  They  have  all  the  characteristics  of  the 
negro  race  unmodified.  I  wonder  if  it  is  mentioned  as  a 
fact  in  their  natural  history  that  their  features  do  not 
grow  after  six  years  of  age  ;  for  it  seems  to  me  the  lips, 
noses,  and  eyes  of  the  children  of  that  age  have  attained 
their  full  size,  and  gradually  afterward  the  body  grows  up 
to  them.  It  seems  so  dreadful  for  them  to  be  slaves, 
worth  so  much  money  apiece, — as  if  money  could  buy  a 
human  soul.  But,  after  all,  the  fault  does  not  lie  with 
this  generation,  but  with  those  who  put  them  here.  We 
have  just  to  accept  and  submit  to  the  fearful  responsibility 
imposed  upon  us  by  our  forefathers ;  there  seems  no  other 
way  out  of  the  difficulty.  To  free  them  now,  of  course, 
would  be  impossible :  such  a  number  of  ignorant,  help- 
less wretches,  thrown  upon  our  country  in  a  condition  of 


46  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

freedom,  would  be  a  curse  to  both  races.  It  seems  to  me 
that,  from  the  present  state  of  things,  the  master  is  a, 
greater  sufferer  than  the  servant, — here,  in  Virginia,  at 
any  rate.  Now,  Mr.  Holcombe  has  over  fifty  men, 
women,  and  children.  The  men  do  the  hardest  work  in 
the  fields ;  the  women  the  lighter  services,  and  the  cook- 
ing, washing,  and  sewing  for  the  'hands;'  while  the 
children,  until  they  are  about  twelve  years  old,  are  useless 
and  expensive  appendages,  having  to  be  supported  with- 
out bringing  any  profit  into  the  concern.  I  have  been 
surprised  to  see  how  comfortably  they  are  provided 
for.  Their  cabins,  though  rough,  are  perfectly  weather- 
tight  and  comfortable :  the  fireplaces  almost  the  width 
of  the  end  of  the  houses,  and  the  wide  chimneys  admit- 
ting floods  of  light  all  around.  It  is  a  scene  for  a  painter 
to  go  into  one  of  these  places,  and  see  the  multitudes 
of  children  seated  inside  of  the  fireplaces  upon  benches 
put  along  the  sides,  and  there  the  little  woolly-heads  nod 
and  bob  until  it  is  a  wonder  they  are  not  burned  up.  But 
oh,  Robert,  the  wood !  You  see  them  bringing  entire 
uncut  logs  for  these  fireplaces  ;  and  a  good  fire  consists 
of  a  moderate  sized  wood-pile. 

"  I  had  an  amusing  incident  last  Sunday.  I  asked  Mr. 
Holcombe  if  no  one  ever  read  to  them.  He  said  his 
mother  used  to,  and  his  wife  also,  when  she  was  well 
enough ;  and  I  think  he  was  very  much  pleased  when  I 
said  I  would  follow  in  their  footsteps.  So,  accompanied  by 
Johnny  and  Mary,  I  sallied  forth  to  the  negro  quarters, 
where  my  services  were  to  be  held,  notice  having  been 
issued  to  that  effect  and  the  dining-bell  rung  to  assemble 
the  congregation.  I  was  to  officiate  in  Uncle  Armstead's 
cabin,  being  one  of  the  largest,  and  he,  being  a  sort  of 
preacher,  was  to  assist  at  the  services. 

"I   am  sure   no  stage -panic  was   ever  more  fright- 


LETTER   FROM  JEAN  TO   HER   BROTHER.         47 

ful  than  mine  when  I  went  into  the  midst  of  my  con- 
venticle. The  room  was  crowded  with  men,  women,  and 
children,  of  all  ages,  sizes,  and  colors,  varying  from  the 
light  mulatto  to  the  deepest  ebony.  Then  the  dressing! 
One  young  girl,  as  black  as  the  ace  of  spades,  was  dressed 
in  muslin  as  white  as  the  snow  on  the  ground,  with  low 
neck  and  short  sleeves.  Each  one  seemed  to  have  hon- 
ored the  occasion  with  all  the  finery  in  her  possession. 
As  I  went  to  my  seat,  which  was  fixed  for  me  at  one 
end  of  the  room,  I  could  hear  from  all  sides,  '  God  bless 
her  I'  '  Our  pretty  young  mistis,'  '  Don't  she  look  sweet?' 
etc.  etc.  At  first  I  thought  I  should  have  to  play  coward 
and  run  away ;  but  at  last  I  found  courage  to  proceed, 
and  asked  Uncle  Armstead  if  they  would  sing.  Oh,  Ro- 
bert, if  you  could  have  heard  that  singing  !  It  frightened 
me  so  in  its  first  burst  that  I  thought  I  would  never  rally. 
Uncle  Armstead  would  first  repeat,  in  a  rapid  sing-song 
tone,  'When  I  can  read  my  titel  cZare,'  and,  running  from 
the  last  word  directly  back  to  the  first,  he  would  lead  the 
whole  choir  in  singing  it,  and  then,  with  great  rapidity, 
take  up  the  second  line, — 

'To  manshuns  in  the  skies.' 

It  was  all  indescribable,  to  see  them  rock  themselves 
backward  and  forward,  roll  up  their  eyes  until  you  could 
see  nothing  but  the  whites,  and  in  tones  in  which  the 
nasal  decidedly  predominated,  follow  their  leader.  There 
were  two  figures  among  the  women  who  particularly 
attracted  my  attention  :  one,  a  tall,  raw-boned  speci- 
men of  the  race,  whose  voice  was  like  the  sound  of  a 
Scotch  bagpipe,  or  the  buzzing  of  twenty  hives  of  bees ; 
it  certainly  had  the  merit  of  volume  and  eccentricity.  I 
never  heard  its  like  before,  and  do  not  care  if  I  never  do 
again.  She  was  dressed  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow, 
but  red  predominated,  prevailing  in  the  head-handkerchief 


48  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

and  shawl,  on  which  she  seemed  to  pride  herself  particu- 
larly. She  had,  too,  a  voluminous  white  pocket-hand- 
kerchief, the  possession  of  which  article  of  dress  accounted 
probably  for  her  being  easily  moved  to  tears  during  the 
reading  and  prayer  which  followed,  in  which  the  hand- 
kerchief was  called  in  requisition  very  frequently.  This 
person  I  learned,  in  answer  to  a  whispered  inquiry  of 
Mary,  was  Aunt  Milly,  and  the  other  was  Aunt  Elsie. 
She  must  have  seen  her  threescore  years  and  ten,  as  it 
is  impossible  to  conceive  an  older  face  than  she  wore  ; 
the  skin  had  shriveled  away  from  the  negro  features, 
leaving  them  hideously  prominent,  and  she  gave  a  dread- 
ful accompaniment  of  groans  to  the  entire  services.  What 
annoyed  me  with  both  of  these  demonstrative  hearers 
was  that  they  made  the  air  wail  with  their  dismal  sounds 
at  the  most  touchingly-comforting  passages.  They  seemed 
in  such  distress  that  I  purposely  chose  this  style ;  but 
they  refused  to  be  comforted,  and  wept  and  groaned  until 
I  did  not  know  what  to  do. 

"At  last  my  duties  were  over,  and  I  asked  Uncle  Arm- 
stead  to  close  with  a  prayer.  Oh,  Robert,  the  singing 
was  wonderful,  but  nothing  to  that  prayer !  His  voice 
must  have  reached  half  a  mile  ;  he  had  collected  trite  and 
familiar  passages,  not  only  from  the  Psalms,  but  from 
church  prayers,  and  some,  I  cannot  tell  where  he  got 
them.  These  he  strung  together,  with  very  little  con- 
nection and  not  much  meaning.  He  prayed  for  all  the 
white  people,  his  master,  and  then  came  my  turn.  '  God 
in  mercy  bress  our  dear  young  mistis,  who  is  a  ministering 
to  us  this  day,  that  she  may  see  herself  as  she  is  a  stand- 
ing on  the  prickly  precipices  of  hell.' 

"I  must  have  smiled  if  I  had  not  been  on  my  knees  ;  but 
it  was  a  proper  lesson  in  humility  for  me.  Here  I  thought 
that  I  was  going  to  be  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a  saint, 


LETTER  FROM  JEAN  TO   HER  BROTHER.         49 

and  in  what  a  position  did  I  find  myself!  I  confess  I  was 
mortified.  You  ought  to  have  heard  Mr.  Holcombe  laugh 
when  I  told  him.  I  thought  he  would  never  stop. 
'Why,'  he  said,  'Jean,  old  Armstead  thought  he  was 
paying  you  the  greatest  compliment.  The  expression  had 
struck  him  as  an  eloquent  touch  from  some  admired 
prayer,  and  he  laid  it  at  your  feet.  He  never  thought  of 
its  full  meaning.'  And  then  he  began  to  laugh  again  until 
I  too  joined  him  with  hearty  good  will.  So  ended  my  first 
services  in  public.  I  certainly  shall  never  forget  the  ex- 
perience ;  but  it  has  done  me  good.  It  may  be  that  God 
is  as  truly  present  to  those  poor  creatures,  with  all  their 
ignorance  and  simplicity,  as  in  the  marble  temple  where 
Dives  and  the  Pharisee  go  to  pray ;  and  when  we  get 
to  heaven  some  of  us  may  find  Uncle  Armstead,  and 
Aunt  Milly,  and  Elsie,  with  a  place  nearer  to  God's 
throne  than  ourselves,  and  we  may  feel  honored  to  have 
a  seat  even  a  little  below  them ;  certainly,  though,  one  has 
a  missionary  field  in  such  a  place  as  this.  May  it  not  be 
that  this  was  the  end  which  God  intended  in  placing  the 
cursed  descendants  of  Ham  in  this  situation,  that  they  too 
might  receive  the  good  news  of  salvation  in  this  their  land 
of  bondage  ? 

"Mr.  Holcombe  says  he  has  studied  colonization  with  a 
view  to  his  own  negroes,  and  if  he  could  have  seen  any 
way  of  bettering  their  condition  he  would  have  sent  them 
to  Liberia  long  ago,  as  he  should  consider  himself  much 
better  off  without  them ;  but  all  inquiries  tended  to  con- 
firm the  fact  that  nine-tenths  of  those  thus  colonized  have 
gone  back  to  barbarism.  So  he  cares  for  them  to  the  best 
of  his  ability  until  the  Almighty  sees  fit  to  lift  the  burden 
from  his  shoulders.  He  has  never  bought  or  sold  one, 
and,  like  Abraham  in  the  Scriptures,  has  had  all  he  has 
born  on  his  own  land. 

5 


50  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"  Well,  dear  Robert,  I  have  written  you  a  long  letter, 
and  have  not  told  you  half  I  had  to  say.  My  life  is  so 
full  now  that  I  have  no  lack  of  material  with  which  to  fill 
my  letters.  We  are  to  have  a  family  gathering  here,  next 
week,  for  the  purpose  of  introducing  me  to  my  new  friends 
and  relations.  I  desire  it  and  dread  it,  I  don't  know 
which  most ;  but  if  they  are  only  like  my  husband  I  know 
I  will  love  them. 

"  I  only  wish  you  were  here.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  feel 
more  alone  than  ever. 

"  Give  more  love  to  my  dear  father  than  the  space  I  leave 
would  hold,  and  remember  me  kindly  to  his  wife.  I  can 
feel  for  her  now  more  than  of  old,  because  '  a  fellow-feel- 
ing makes  us  wondrous  kind ;'  but  I  hope  I  will  never 
be  the  means  of  exiling  one  of  my  husband's  children  from 
his  roof. 

"  Believe  me,  dear,  darling  brother,  your  devoted  sister, 

"JEAN   HOLCOMBE." 


CHAPTER    ¥~I-I. 

A     FAMILY     GATHERING. 

IT  is  a  beautiful  custom  which  sets  apart  one  day  in  the 
year  on  which  the  whole  world  may  rejoice  in  the  advent 
of  the  Saviour  of  mankind ;  a  day  redeemed  from  the 
cold  and  gloom  of  the  winter  season,  like  the  hope  which 
his  coming  sheds  upon,  what  would  without  it  be,  the 
midnight  darkness  of  our  lives. 

And  God  himself  seems  to  set  his  sanction  upon  it  by 
implanting  in  each  heart  an  added  feeling  of  gladness. 
Dark  indeed  must  be  the  home  which  does  not  brighten 
at  the  approach  of  Christmas,  and  empty  indeed  must  be 
the  purse  which  cannot  gild  the  day  with  a  token  of  re- 
membrance. / 

These  festival  days  in  a  family  circle  keep  the  torch  of 
brotherly  love  burning  brightly, — they  link  us  to  our 
childhood ;  and  it  is  a  touchingly  tender  sight  to  see  the 
remaining  members  of  a  family  circle  of  the  passing 
generation — men  and  women — meeting  together  to  spend 
another  Christmas  under  the  old  homestead,  throwing 
aside  the  cares  and  toils  of  working  every-day  life,  and 
living  over  again  the  days  gone  by,  with  smiles  which 
would  be  merry  but  for  the  gleam  of  sadness  in  them, — 
the  tribute  which  memory  pays  to  the  full  and  filling 
heads  of  grain  which  have  gone  down  beneath  the  reapers' 
scythes. 

Such  a  family  gathering  we  will  witness  in  a  Virginia 

(51) 


52  THE  HOL  COMBES. 

home,  in  the  midst  of  the  hoary  heads  of  the  old  Blue 
Ridge  Mountains. 

Like  the  woman  in  the  Bible  who  lost  her  piece  of  sil- 
ver, when  it  was  found  "  called  her  friends  and  neighbors 
together  to  rejoice  that  she  had  found  the  piece  which 
was  lost,"  so  Mr.  Holcombe,  thanking  God  for  the  new 
blessing  which  had  come  to  his  heart  and  home,  called 
his  friends  together  to  be  glad  with  him  ;  and  the  little 
wife  and  mother,  so  happy  in  her  new  relations,  feeling 
that  upon  her  rested  the  happiness  of  so  many,  grew 
lighter  under  the  pleasant  burden,  and  tasked  herself  to 
remember  what  could  add  to  the  pleasure  of  each  one. 
Morning,  noon,  and  night,  the  busy  brain  and  hands 
were  at  work  devising  and  executing.  With  Mrs.  Bas- 
cornbe's  help,  the  larder  groaned  under  the  abundant 
preparations.  t  Mrs.  Leslie,  Mrs.  Randolph,  and  old 
cookery-books  of  renown  were  the  ruling  literature  of  the 
day.  Jean  saw  herself  developing  into  a  distinguished 
Virginia  housewife.  Her  ambition  in  this  department  was 
wonderful.  The  most  impossible  dishes  were  attempted 
with  brilliant  success.  The  parlor  and  chamber  were 
deserted  during  the  day  for  the  storeroom  and  kitchen, 
and  if  Mr.  Holcombe  wanted  to  see  his  wife  he  had  to 
look  for  her  there,  and  find  her  a  devotee  to  cooking, — 
false  to  him,  and  utterly  enamored  of  her  new  successes. 

"  Jean,  come  up-stairs  and  talk  to  me, — it  is  so  tire- 
some in  you  to  spend  your  whole  time  down  in  this  hole." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Holcombe,  just  taste  this  jelly  1  Is  it  not 
perfectly  delicious  ?  And  see  the  icing  on  this  cake. 
Mammy  did  it, — ain't  she  a  treasure  ?  and  Mrs.  Bas- 
eombe  is  making  the  most  delicious " 

"  I  don't  care  what  Mrs.  Bascombe  and  Mammy  do ; 
but  you  are  to  come  up-stairs  with  me.  I  might  just  as 
well  have  married  a  cook  at  once.  Dolly  is  much  better 


A   FAMILY  GATHERING.  53 

at  it  than  you  will  ever  be,  and  I  would  rather  she  would 
cook  my  dinners." 

"  You  cross  old  thing !  Never  mind,  you  can't  do 
without  me,  anyhow,"  was  the  happy,  exulting  answer, 
as  she  was  borne  off  bodily  up-stairs,  to  the  great  glee 
of  servants  and  children. 

These  were  merry  times  for  all,  but  particularly  for 
the  little  ones,  who,  contrasting  the  season  with  those 
which  had  preceded  it,  when  they,  a  little  motherless 
brood,  clustered  around  the  empty  hearth,  with  no  one  to 
lead  them  in  their  mirth,  were  now  wild  with  delight  at 
the  preparations  made  for  their  happiness.  There  were 
sly  glimpses  into  the  closet  up  in  "  mamma's"  room,  and 
the  wonderful  visions  of  beauty  caught  through  the  half- 
open  door  furnished  conjecture  enough  for  happiness, 
which  came  in  floods  to  all  but  one  brooding  heart,  nurs- 
ing in  silence  a  morbid  sickness  of  the  soul,  jealously 
putting  away  happiness  with  one  hand  whilst  she 
grasped  at  her  shadowy  sorrow  with  the  other, — consti- 
tuting in  her  home  the  "  skeleton  in  the  closet,"  the  "  fly 
in  the  apothecary's  ointment ;"  in  the  midst  of  their 
pleasures,  causing  an  uncomfortable  feeling  in  the  hearts 
of  each, — a  vague  longing  to  do  something  to  banish  the 
cloud. 

Many  times  would  Mr.  Holcombe  have  spoken  plainly 
to  her  of  her  wantonness  in  thus  trifling  with  her  life  ; 
but  the  timid,  gentle  little  Jean  held  him  back,  because 
she  feared  being  the  cause  of  disagreement  between  father 
and  daughter,  and  would  not  have  herself  rudely  thrust 
into  the  heart  of  her  husband's  child.  She  trusted  that 
as  "  the  continual  dropping  of  water  weareth  away  the 
hard  stone,"  so  her  constant  acts  of  kindness  and  forbear- 
ance would  at  last  have  the  desired  effect;  and,  with  her 
cheerfulness  of  temper,  she  saw  herself,  in  the  future, 

5* 


54  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

rewarded  for  her  endurance  of  this  hard  trial,  by  seeing 
this  child,  in  whom,  in  spite  of  herself,  she  felt  so  deep 
an  interest,  taking  her  place  too  in  the  domestic  circle, 
and,  by  her  graces  aad  accomplishments,  filling  up  the 
vacuum  her  present  mood  created. 

This  was  well  meant,  but  mistaken  kindness.  It  is 
never  best  to  heal  over  a  wound  on  the  top,  while  below, 
the  festering  cancer  spreads  and  deepens  for  lack  of  an 
outlet.  A  few  words  of  kind  and  gentle  firmness,  a 
probing  it  to  the  bottom,  might  have  healed  what  at  first 
was  so  slight  a  hurt ;  but  each  day  increased  it,  and 
built  up  the  barrier  between  herself  and  her  family 
higher,  and  the  unhappiness, — which  at  first  was  more 
the  wayward  jealousy  of  a  child,  the  sentimental  nursing 
of  an  idea,  common  at  her  age, — now  began  to  have  sub- 
stance ;  for,  by  her  own  act,  she  had  cut  herself  off  from 
the  members  of  her  household,  and  had  no  place  in  her 
father's  home.  But  even  she,  though  in  a  much  less 
degree,  felt  pleasant  anticipations  at  the  approach  of 
Christmas,  because  she,  too,  would  welcome  with  pleas- 
ure the  arrival  of  her  uncles,  aunts,  and  young  cousins  ; 
it  promised  some  variety  in  the  enforced  monotony  of  her 
life. 

Accordingly,  on  the  day  before  Christmas,  after  the 
carriages  and  wagons  and  everything  had  been  started  to 
the  depot  for  the  travelers,  she  crept  down  into  the  par- 
lor with  a  brighter  look  upon  her  face  than  she  had  worn 
for  a  long  time ;  and  Mr.  Holcombc,  heralding  it  as  a  good 
sign,  greeted  her  with  his  old  tone  of  hearty  affection. 
Her  face  brightened  anew  under  the  familiar  tones,  and 
with  some  of  her  old  impulse  she  returned  his  caresses, 
and,  for  a  time,  was  almost  like  herself,  and  looked  around 
with  surprise  and  pleasure  at  the  adornments  of  the  room, 
the  festoons  of  evergreen  interspersed  with  the  red  ber- 


A   FAMILY  GATHERING.  55 

ries  of  the  holly,  and  the  bouquets  of  scarlet  sage  and 
bright  chrysanthemum.  A  great  deal  of  taste  had  been 
displayed  in  the  entire  arrangement  of  the  two  parlors ; 
and  as  Mary  and  John  eagerly  recounted  how  busy  they 
had  been,  helping  mamma,  and  how  Uncle  Bob  had  taken 
the  wagon  out  to  the  woods  and  brought  back  such  beau- 
tiful evergreens,  a  pang  of  regret  that  she  had  missed  it 
all  made  her  wince,  and  brought  back  the  moody  cloud  to 
her  face,  which  was  quickly  dispersed,  however,  as  the 
sound  of  carriage-wheels  broke  upon  their  ears,  and  the 
whole  party  adjourned  hastily  to  the  piazza  to  welcome 
the  travelers. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

JEAN'S  DIARY — A  CHRISTMAS  MORNING. 

December  26//i.  This  has  certainly  been  the  very  hap- 
piest and  merriest  season  of  my  life.  I  wish  I  could  be 
inspired  for  the  nonce  that  I  might  transcribe  my  account 
of  it  in  such  graphic  terms  that  it  might  always  be  re- 
called to  my  mind  with  the  vividness  of  the  present  im- 
pression. 

These  people  are  so  different  from  any  I  have  ever 
been  accustomed  to.  I  thought  Mr.  Ilolcombe  possessed 
his  heartiness  of  manner  as  a  peculiarity,  a  special  gift, 
but  I  find  I  was  mistaken;  it  seems  to  be  a  family  trait. 
Now"  imagine  my  astonishment  when  my  husband  said 
"  Here  is  my  wife,  George,"; — and  I  had  just  prepared  my 
sweetest  smile,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  surrender  at 
discretion  if  he  insisted  upon  meeting  me  with  a  brotherly 
salute, — to  find  myself  fairly  taken  into  his  arms,  and 
embraced  with  the  same  enthusiasm  as  if  he  recognized 
in  me  a  sister  to  the  manner  born  from  whom  he  had  been 
separated  for  many  years ;  and  he  had  scarcely  released 
me  with  burning  cheeks,  before  I  was  handed  over  to  a 
dear  little  lady, — my  sister  Annie,  Mrs.  Mason, — who 
welcomed  me  with  "Well,  my  dear,  now  it  is  my  time  ; 
we  won't  allow  George  the  monopoly."  And  then  came 
Mrs.  Randolph  (Mary),  quite  young  looking,  with  the 
remains  of  considerable  beauty.  And  her  husband,  a 
handsome  man,  but  decidedly  more  formal  than  the  rest 
(56) 


JEAN'S  DIARY—A    CHRISTMAS  MORNING.        5f 

of  the  family ;  then  came  claimant  after  claimant  for 
"  Aunt  Jean  !  Aunt  Jean !"  until  the  poor  little  woman  felt 
perfectly  bewildered  and  soon  saw  nothing  but  a  crowd 
of  figures  all  bleared  together.  From  this  I  was  rescued 
by  a  soft  hand  which  I  afterwards  found  to  belong  to 
C\'nthia  Marshall,  my,  sister  Annie's  youngest  daughter, 
who  is  married  to  a  young  lawyer  of  Richmond,  and  is  the 
triumphant  possessor  of  the  only  baby  in  the  party;  be- 
sides, there  is  Mary  Mason,  a  fine,  bright-looking  woman, 
about  my  own  age  I  should  judge;  Ellen  Randolph,  about 
the  age  of  Margaret,  and  two  sons  of  Mr.  George  Hoi- 
combe.  What  a  party  to  be  introduced  to  all  at  once  I 
But,  thanks  to  their  kindness,  in  half  an  hour  I  knew 
them  all,  and  loved  them,  too.  My  two  sisters  attracted 
me  particularly ;  they  seemed  to  see  at  a  glance  the 
embarrassment  of  my  position,  and  kind,  motherly  sister 
Annie  was  by  my  side,  with  my  hand -in  hers,  talking 
about  "  the  boys,"  meaning,  as  I  soon  found,  her  brothers, 
as  if  they  had  been  children.  She  is  much  the  eldest 
of  the  family,  and  more  like  a  mother  than  a  sister  to 
the  others ;  then  sister  Mary,  with  her  pretty  young 
face,  looking  more  like  the  sister  thun  the  mother  of  her 
pretty  young  daughter. 

Brother  George  is  younger  than  my  husband,  and 
somewhat  like  him,  but  not  so  good  looking  in  my  opin- 
ion ;  they  all  think  him  a  great  genius.  He  is  the  lite- 
rary man  of  the  family,  and  writes  beautifully !  I  confess 
to  being  a  little  afraid  of  him,  both  because  I  know  he 
will  think  me  so  very  stupid,  and  because  he  looks  to  me 
as  if  he  was  going  to  tease  me  all  the  time,  as  he  does 
the  others ;  but  I  suppose  he  feels  sorry  for  me,  and 
spares  me.  I  told  Mr.  Holcombe,  privately,  that  I  was 
very  glad  he  was  not  a  genius  ;  at  which  he  seemed,  or 
rather  pretended,  to  be  vastly  offended,  and  protested  that 


58  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

he  had  laid  claims  successfully  to  the  character  all  his 
life,  and  now  saw  himself  suddenly  stripped  of  his  hard- 
won  honors  by  his  own  wife ;  and  think  of  his  telling  on 
me  at  the  table,  and  demanding  the  sympathy  of  his 
family !  It  was  too  bad.  I  almost  felt  like  crying. 

Cynthia  Marshall  is  a  bright,  happy  little  thing.  She 
is  so  distressed  that  her  husband  could  not  come, — proud 
young  matron  that  she  is,  she  thinks  everything  incom- 
plete without  him. 

"  Have  you  learned  to  manage  Uncle  Ned  yet,  Aunt 
Jean?"  she  said,  as  we  sat  together  after  tea.  I  dis- 
claimed any  such  intention. 

"  Pshaw  !"  said  she,  laughing,  "  I  don't  believe  that ; 
every  woman  tries  it,  and  most  of  them  succeed.  Men 
are  so  easily  fooled :  a  little  extra  petting,  and  the  day  is 
carried.  Now  my  husband  is  so  sweet-tempered  I  have 
a  very  small  field  for  the  exercise  of  my  prowess.  He 
has  but  one  weakness  in  the  world,  and  that  is — lard." 

There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  cries  for  an  explana- 
tion ;  so  Cynthia  took  the  floor. 

"  Everybody  that  has  kept  house  at  all  knows  how 
quickly  lard  goes — it  just  seems  to  melt;  particularly  in 
winter,  when  so  much  is  used  in  cooking.  Well,  I  don't 
know  what  Charles  thinks  I  do  with  it;  but  he  certainly 
crumples  up  his  forehead  and  looks  very  black  when  I 
tell  him  '  the  lard  is  out ;'  and  I  am  so  much  afraid  of 
the  consequences  that  now  I  watch  the  firkin  with  the 
greatest  anxiety,  and  scrape  the  sides  very  diligently, 
before  I  admit  to  myself  that  it  is  out.  And  then  comes 
the  breaking  it  to  Charles, — I  assure  you,  mamma,  it  takes 
me  a  whole  day  to  prepare  for  it.  I  dress  my  room  up 
in  the  most  attractive  manner, — put  a  white  counterpane 
on  the  bed  and  my  ruffled  pillow-cases, — have  the  bright- 
est sort  of  fire  kindled  on  the  hearth,  flare  open  all  the 


JUAN'S  DIARY— A    CHRISTMAS  MORNING.        59 

window-shutters, — because,  like  all  men,  he  delights  in  a 
glare  of  light ;  then  I  have  the  most  tempting  dinner  pre- 
pared, with  his  favorite  dessert  (he  is  a  perfect  baby 
about  sweet  things),  I  get  out  the  best  china  and  silver, 
and  my  company  table-cloth  and  napkins ;  when  all  is 
exactly  right,  I  dress  myself  in  my  most  becoming  dress, 
with  blue  ribbons  generally,  because  blue  is  his  color ; 
and,  after  surveying  myself  in  the  glass,  with  the  same 
pride  and  confidence  with  which  a  general  would  view  a 
well-disciplined  army,  I  find  myself  prepared  for  action. 
As  soon  as  I  hear  his  step  in  the  street,  I  rush  to  meet 
him  with  my  brightest  smile  of  welcome,  don't  let  him 
wait  one  moment  for  his  dinner,  listen  in  the  most  inter- 
ested manner  to  his  dull  details  of  business, — what  the 
judge  said, — what  this  witness  said,  and  that  witness 
said, — all  ending  in  how  he  ought  to  have  gained  his  case 
and  how  he  did  not ;  but  I  comfort  him  until  the  crumples 
are  all  smoothed  out  of  his  forehead,  and  then  wile  him 
up-stairs,  get  his  slippers  for  him,  make  him  lie  down 
while  I  comb  his  head;  and  after  I  have  wound  him  up 
to  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight,  I  whisper  in  his  ear, 
'Oh,  honey,  the  lard  is  out!'  He  sees  through  all 
my  manoeuvres  then,  but  he  has  not  the  heart  to  scold, 
so  he  laughs  his  merriest  laugh,  and  says,  'By  George, 
Cynthia,  it  does  go  quickly !'  But  he  is  getting  so 
smart  now  I  will  have  to  fall  on  some  other  plan ; 
for  whenever  he  comes  home  and  finds  me  a  little  fixed 
up,  he  throws  up  his  hands,  and  says,  '  You  need  not  tell 
me,  my  dear — I  know  the  lard  is  out !'  But  baby  is  wait- 
ing to  be  put  to  bed ;  -so,  Aunt  Jean,  I  leave  you  to  digest 
my  matrimonial  experiences  for  your  own  benefit."  And 
off  she  ran,  leaving  a  great  laugh  behind  her  at  her  story. 
Her  mother  says  she  is  as  happy  as  she  can  be,  though 
Charles  is  by  no  means  rich,  and  Cynthia  has  to  exercise 


60  THE  HOL  COMBES. 

very  close  economy  in  her  domestic  arrangements;  but  it 
does  not  seem  to  trouble  her  at  all.  She  takes  life  very 
easily,  and  thinks  herself  the  most  fortunate  woman  in 
the  world. 

Christmas  morning  had  scarcely  dawned  before  I  was 
wakened  by  the  shouts  of  the  children  in  the  hall,  as 
they  went  from  door  to  door,  calling  "  Christmas-gift," 
and  compelling  Somuus  to  vacate  his  throne  long  before 
his  abdication  was  legally  due.  In  an  instant  I  was  on 
my  feet,  dressing  myself,  eager  to  be  ready  for  their  first 
summons  to  me ;  this  I  did  in  spite  of  Mr.  Holcombe's 
remonstrances,  who  grumbled,  sleepily,  that  I  was  no- 
thing more  than  a  child  myself;  and  indeed  I  can't  think 
I  was,  either.  I  am  sure  no  one  of  the  children  felt  a 
keener  relish  than  I  did  for  the  fun.  It  seemed  such  a 
change  in  my  lonely,  cheerless  life.  I  felt  as  if  I  had 
just  begun  to  live  in  earnest;  and  I  am  going  to  take 
every  enjoyment  which  God  sends  me  with  as  much  youth 
and  zest  as  I  can.  Indeed,  it  has  been  resolved  in  a 
family  conclave,  the  night  before,  that  we  should  all  put 
off  our  years  like  old  garments  for  the  holiday,  and 
resume  our  childhood.  Brother  George  said  he  intended 
to  ignore  all  of  his  }rears  but  twelve,  and  chose  the 
longest  and  biggest  stocking  to  hang  up  for  himself, 
insisting  upon  our  following  his  example,  until  the  table 
was  piled  with  the  well-filled  garments.  I  heard  bis 
voice,  with  the  others,  approaching  my  door,  and  hurried 
my  preparations  for  their  reception.  Little  Lilias  was 
by  this  time  awake,  and  as  much  excited  as  I  was,  and 
whilst  I  was  dressing  had  been  giving  me  an  animated 
description  of  a  visit  St.  Nicholas  had  paid  her  during 
the  night;  and  as  a  proof  of  the  reality  of  the  apparition 
she  drew  out  her  well-filled  stocking  from  under  her 
pillow. 


JEAN'S  DIARY— A    CHRISTMAS  MORNING.        61 

Just  then  I  opened  my  door  to  join  the  rioters,  and 
found  a  crowd  of  revelers  collected  outside,  foremost 
among  which  was  a  burly  figure  dressed  to  represent 
St.  Nicholas,  with  his  long  white  hair  and  beard,  fur 
cap  and  coat,  and  long  snow-boots,  with  a  pack  slung 
over  his  shoulder,  from  which  protruded  the  legs  and 
feet  of  numberless  stockings  (it  had  been  decided  that 
the  gifts  should  be  reserved  for  the  Christmas-tree  at 
night).  My  appearance  was  greeted  with  a  huzza.  And 
St.  Nicholas,  handing  over  to  me  a  long-legged  stocking, 
chanted,  in  brother  George's  voice, — 

"Here's  a  Christinas  greeting  for  Madam  Jean, 
The  presiding  fairy  of  the  scene." 

A  renewed  shout  applauded  the  impromptu  couplet, 
and  St.  Nicholas  in  stentorian  tones  demanded,  "Ned 
and  Lilias  Holcombe  at  my  hands."  An  eager  response 
from  Lilias  was  the  answer.  And  through  the  half-open 
door  the  little  flaxen  head  was  seen  pushed  forward  as 
far  as  her  helplessness  would  allow. 

"Ah  !  ha  !  here  she  is  !  1  knew  she  would  be  ready. 
St.  Nicholas  left  her  stocking  under  her  head  last  night. 
But  who  is  that  lazy  hulk  who  dares  to  try  even  to  sleep 
on  such  a  morning  as  this,  when  Christmas  comes  but 
once  a  year  ?"  And  at  once  be  pounced  upon  my  luckless 
husband,  who,  still  intent  upon  his  morning  nap,  had 
covered  up  head  and  ears  in  a  vain  attempt  to  shut  out 
the  merry  sounds. 

"And  here's  my  greeting  for  lazy  Ned, 
Who  spends  Christmas  morning  lying  in  bed," 

said  the  incorrigible  St.  Nicholas,  shaking  the  recumbent 
figure  with  a  hearty  good  will. 

"  Oh,  George,  will  you  have  done  ?  Will  nothing  ever 
make  a  man  of  you  ?"  was  the  unappreciative  response,  as 

G 


62  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

a  tousled  head  appeared  from  beneath  the  bedclothes 
and  looked  around  at  the  crowd  in  sleepy  surprise. 

"  Will  anything  ever  make  a  boy  of  you  ?"  retorted 
George.  "  Who  wants  to  be  a  man  when  he  can  be  a  boy, 
I  wonder  ?  I  dare  anybody  to  call  me  such  names  on 
Christmas-day!  I  am  just  twelve  years  old,  and  very 
young  of  my  age.  Pelt  him,  boys  !  He  is  fair  game." 

Instantly  the  whole  tribe  was  on  him,  until  he  cried  for 
mercy.  Sisters  Annie  and  Mary  had  joined  the  group 
by  this  time,  and  Cynthia,  with  baby  in  her  arms,  crow- 
ing and  laughing  in  as  full  enjoyment  of  the  scene  as  her 
elders, — even  she  had  her  little  red  sock  in  her  hands, 
which  she  was  sucking  with  great  enjoyment. 

At  last,  in  self-defense,  Mr.  Holcombe  had  to  promise 
to  get  up,  if  his  room  was  vacated,  as  he  declared  this 
French  style  of  receiving  visitors  in  his  bedroom,  though 
it  might  suit  the  ladies,  was  not  to  his  taste. 

St.  Nicholas  then  led  off  his  party  to  the  negro  quarters, 
and,  after  calling  nurse  to  take  Lilias  into  the  next  room 
and  dress  her,  I  donned  my  india-rubber  shoes  and  wraps 
and  followed  them.  I  never  shall  forget  the  scene.  The 
ground  was  covered  with  snow,  which  glittered  under 
the  beams  of  the  sun,  and  through  the  unbroken  mass 
tramped  these  Christmas  revelers,  their  feet  crunching 
through  the  icy  surface  at  each  step.  And  heading  the 
party  was  St.  Nicholas,  looking  more  than  ever  in  charac- 
ter with  the  scene.  Their  numbers  were  swelled  as  they 
went  along,  and  cabin  after  cabin  poured  out  its  contri- 
bution to  the  procession,  and  "  Christmas-gift,  marster !" 
"  Christmas-gift,  mistis!"  resounded  on  all  sides,  mingled 
with  exclamations  of  amazement  and  wonder  as  they 
caught  sight  of  the  long  white  beard  and  hair  of  St. 
Nicholas,  with  his  pack  thrown  over  his  shoulders. 

"  Who's  dat  ole  marster  dar  ?     It  mus'  be  Christmas 


JEAN'S  DIARY— A    CHRISTMAS  MORNING.        63 

eomin',  sho  nuf.  Well !  well !  I  do  bleve  it  is  Mars' 
George !  It's  jist  like  him.  I  knowed  him  jes  as  soon  as 
I  seed  his  eye !  Christmas-gift,  Mars'  George !"  And 
the  showers  of  sugar-plums,  which  followed  the  appeal, 
established  the  identity  of  "Mars'  George"  completely. 
It  was  too  laughable  to  see  the  little  woolly-heads  bob- 
bing up  and  clown  on  the  white  snow  in  search  of  the 
missing  sugar-plums.  At  last  Mammy's  house  was 
reached,  and  we  found  the  old  lady,  with  her  best  turban 
and  apron  on,  ready  to  welcome  us,  while  through  the 
half-open  door  we  caught  the  hospitable  gleam  of  a  real 
Christmas  fire.  Mammy  looked  more  than  ever  as  if  she 
was  concentrating  the  entire  dignity  of  her  master's  family 
in  her  person.  Her  appearance  was  picturesque,  if  not 
handsome,  as  she  welcomed  us  with  her  lowest  curtsy, 
and  insisted  upon  our  coming  in. 

"Come  in,  my  dear  children,  to  the  fire.  You  will, 
every  one  of  you,  cotch  cold,  and  den  you  will  have  to 
have  old  Mammy  to  uus  you.  But  who  is  dat  ?  Lord, 
ef  it  ain't  Mars'  George  !  Bless  your  heart,  honey,  what 
a  figure  you  dus  make  of  yoursef !" 

No  one  felt  disposed  to  decline  the  hospitable  invita- 
tion, as  the  biting  northwest  wind  made  the  glow  of  the 
tire  very  tempting.  And  in  another  moment  we  were 
standing  around  the  bright,  blazing  hearth.  A  coffeepot 
was  at  our  feet,  and  the  steaming  contents  were  soon 
presented  to  us,  —  Brother  George  and  myself  being 
honored  with  cups  of  fine  French  china,  the  remains  of 
an  old  set,  as  she  informed  us,  which  her  old  mistress 
used  to  have,  and  which  she  had  given  to  her.  And 
while  we  enjoyed  the  delicious  beverage,  the  old  woman 
went  from  one  to  another  of  the  party,  feeling  our  feet, 
to  see  if  we  had  suffered  from  the  expedition ;  and  Brother 
George  spent  the  time,  to  their  mutual  enjoyment,  in  re- 


64  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

calling  other  scenes  of  which  this  Christmas  reminded 
him  ;  while  she  stood  behiud  his  chair,  laughing  at  his 
humorous  recollections,  and  no  entreaties  could  induce 
her  to  be  seated  "while  the  white  people  was  there." 

"  Law,  Mammy,"  said  he,  "  how  this  reminds  me  of  the 
times  I  used  to  come  down  here  and  eat  your  breakfast 
for  you  after  I  had  finished  my  own  at  the  house  !  I 
always  liked  yours  the  best." 

"  Yes,  honey,  so  you  did ;  but  there  never  was  a  nigger 
on  your  father's  place  that  did  not  have  enough  and  to 
spare.  And  I  never  lost  nothin'  by  it.  You  was  sure  to 
bring  me  somethin' before  the  day  was  out.  There  never 
was  a  stingy  one  of  the  name.  And  your  mother,  law ! 
she  would  have  give'  the  last  mouthful  she  had  to  keep 
anybody  from  bein'  hungry." 

"  Yes,  so  she  would,  Mammy ;  but  she  used  to  make 
everybody  stand  about." 

"  Of  course  !  And  so  she  ought.  Darkies  must  be  kep' 
in  their  places.  There  wasn't  never  no  marster  no  mis- 
tis  any  better  than  mine.  But  I  would  jest  like  to  see 
the  nigger  that  would  be  darse  to  give  one  of  them  a 
word  of  imperence.  And  all  the  children  was  jest  like 
'em.  Why,  law  !  Miss  Ann,  don't  I  remember  the  time 
that  you  seed  Dolly  going  out  to  the  wood-pile,  when  the 
snow  was  on  the  ground,  in  her  bare  feet,  and  you  sot 
down  and  took  off  your  own  shoes  and  made  her  put  them 
on.  But  it  wasn't  that  Dolly  didn't  have  any  shoes,  but 
she  had  left  them  down  at  the  cabins,  'cause  the  children 
never  likes  to  wear  they  shoes." 

"  Well,  Mammy,"  said  George,  winking  at  me  as  an 
intimation  that  he  was  drawing  her  out,  "have  you  got 
any  free  negroes  round  here  now  ?" 

"No,  thank  the  Lord,  Mars'  George;  they  ain't  many 
of  that  trash  about  now ;  dey  ain't  no  better  den  poor 


JEAN'S  DIARY— A    CHRISTMAS  MORNING.        65 

white  folks.  I  ain't  got  no  use  for  'em  nohow.  Give  me 
a  darky  what  has  been  brought  up  by  the  quality." 

"  Why,  Mammy,  Ned  and  myself  want  to  give  you 
freedom.  Would  you  not  like  to  be  free  ?" 

"  Free !  What  I  do  with  free  ?  I  been  b'long  to  white 
folks  all  my  life,  and  I  will  die  b'longst  to  'em.  Niggers 
don'  kuo'  how  to  take  kerevof  theyselves  nohow." 

"  But,  Mammy,  there  is  a  fine  country  you  can  go  to 
across  the  ocean,  which  belongs  to  black  people — Liberia. 
I  expect  they  would  make  you  a  queen  over  there." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Mars'  George,  nigger  is  a  very  big 
fool,  but  not  that  big,  and  the  niggers  in  your  Library 
can  get  somebody  else  for  they  queen.  I  ain't  never  going 
where  I  won't  see  none  but  black  faces.  I  ain't  overly- 
fond  of  niggers  nohow." 

"No,  indeed,  old  lady,"  said  George,  as  we  all  rose  to 
go  ;  "  and  we  wouldn't  let  you  go  either.  The  children 
you  have  nursed  are  going  to  take  care  of  you  as  long  as 
God  lets  us;  and  then  we  will  put  a  white  stone  over 
your  grave,  with  writing  on  it,  to  tell  how  faithful  you 
were  to  us  all.  Good-by,  Mammy ;  make  haste  and 
come  up  to  the  house ;  I  want  to  drink  your  health  to- 
day." 

And  "Good-by,  Mammy,  good-by,  Mammy,"  was 
echoed  through  the  crowd,  until  we  lost  sight  of  the  old 
figure  standing  in  the  door,  looking  after  us,  with  her 
eyes  full  of  tears,  while  the  rest  of  her  face  smiled  her 
adieus. 

Breakfast  as  a  breakfast  was  rather  a  failure  this  morn- 
ing, as  the  young  people  had  dived  into  their  stockings, 
and  looked  upon  Dolly's  flaky  rolls  and  omelets  with  an 
expression  of  disgust  born  of  satiety ;  and  even  the  older 
people  were  too  full  of  talk  of  old  times  and  present  plans 

6* 


66  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

to  take  much  interest  in  so  prosaic  a  matter  as  the  morn- 
ing meal  presented. 

The  Christmas-tree  was  to  be  arranged  during  the 
morning,  and  the  two  sisters,  Mary  Mason,  Cynthia,  and 
myself  formed  ourselves  into  a  committee  of  arrange- 
ments; Margaret  and  Ellen  were  invited  to  come  with 
us,  but  the  former  refused,  haughtily,  and  Ellen,  after 
casting  a  longing  look  at  our  party,  followed  her. 

The  children  were  made  perfectly  happy  by  a  whisper 
from  me,  that  I  had  had  a  tree  set  up  in  the  wash-house  for 
the  little  negroes,  and  they  were  to  have  the  entire  re- 
sponsibility of  that,  as  I  had  arranged  everything  for  it 
on  a  large  ironing-table  in  the  room. 

•  Off  they  went,  Mary,  with  the  key  in  her  hand,  heading 
the  party ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  even  their  own  tree 
gave  them  the  pleasure  which  this  did. 

In  the  mean  time  we  grown  children  adjourned  to  the 
library,  which  is  at  one  end  of  the  suite  of  apartments, 
of  which  the  two  parlors  form  the  center,  and  the  large 
dining-room  the  other  end.  Here  we  found  a  beautifully- 
shaped  tree  fixed  in  the  middle  of  the  room ;  its  base 
formed  of  a  large  box,  which  was  entirely  concealed  by 
moss-covered  rocks.  Upon  a  table  beside  the  tree  each 
member  of  the  family  had  deposited  their  gifts ;  and,  as 
each  one  was  to  surprise  everybody  else,  each  gift  was 
wrapped  in  white  paper,  with  the  direction  upon  it; 
besides  these  there  were  various  ornaments  for  the  tree, 
cut  out  of  gilt  paper,  and  a  number  of  colored  wax 
candles. 

The  only  children  admitted  were  the  baby,  who  rolled 
about  in  good-humored  content  on  a  sheepskin  spread  on 
the  floor,  and  Lilias,  whose  chair  was  placed  by  the  fire, 
where  she  could  be  amused  by  what  was  going  on.  Every 
one  seemed  to  throw  over  them  a  veil  of  mystery ;  and 


JEAN'S  DIARY— A    CHRISTMAS  MORNING.        61 

Cynthia  amused  us  very  much  by  her  droll  guesses  at 
the  contents  of  the  various  packages. 

"  Gracious,  Aunt  Jean  !  I  am  jealous  of  you.  I  never 
saw  anything  like  the  packages  I  have  tied  up  for  you. 
I  tell  you  the  Holcombes  are  trying  to  make  a  good  im- 
pression on  you.  I  Only  hope  they  will  be  able  to  keep 
it  up.  Ah,  at  last  I  see  something  directed  to  Cynthia 
Marshall;  I  was  afraid  she  was  forgotten.  Let  me  see; 

it  feels  like "  but  she  was  deprived  of  any  further 

opportunity  of  finding  out  by  having  the  package  taken 
possession  of  by  Mary,  who  tied  it  far  out  of  her  reach 
at  the  top  of  the  tree. 

"  Cousin  Cynthia,  is  there  anything  for  me  ?"  said 
Lilias,  from  her  easy-chair. 

"  I  should  think  so,  Dame  Lilias ;  at  least  a  dozen  ad- 
ditions to  your  family.  How  many  babies  have  you 
now?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  ;  but  there  is  still  room  for  more. 
I  have  not  had  any  new  ones  for  nearly  a  year,  and  it  is 
time  for  me  to  have  r editions,  ain't  it?" 

"  Well,  I  think  once  a  year  ought  to  satisfy  any  rea- 
sonable woman.  And  here  is  a  long  package  for  Baby 
Annie.  Gracious  !  I  do  believe  I  am  going  to  be  a  grand- 
mother. I  hope  it  is  made  of  digestible  materials,  for 
she  will  swallow  it  whole  before  it  is  a  day  older,  won't 
you,  Baby  ?" 

Baby  laughed,  and  showed  her  two  little  white  pegs 
by  way  of  an  assurance  that  her  appetite  was  fully 
whetted. 

"  Oh,  Jean,"  said  sister  Mary,  "  I  wish  you  could 
have  known  my  mother.  She  was  the  greatest  hand  at 
a  Christmas  frolic.  I  have  known  her,  after  she  was  an 
old  woman, — indeed,  up  to  the  time  of  her  death, — dress 
herself  up  to  represent  St.  Nicholas  and  astonish  the 


68  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

children,  and  she  always  would  have  all  of  her  descend- 
ants under  her  roof  once  a  year.  We  all  had  to  come 
when  she  told  us.  I  tell  you,  sister  Annie,  we  will- 
never  have  any  one  to  care  as  much  for  us  again ;  there 
is  no  love  like  mother-love  after  all,  and  she  did  more  for 
the  enjoyment  of  the  children  than  anybody  else  will 
ever  do,  unless  her  mantle  falls  on  Jean,  here.  I  am 
glad  that  the  Lady  of  Rose  Hill  promises  to  be  a  Lady 
Bountiful.  This  is  more  like  our  old  family  gatherings 
than  any  we  have  had  since  mother's  death." 

And  so  the  morning  passed :  in  a  mingling  of  gay  and 
quiet  talk,  interspersed  with  such  sketches  of  the  charac- 
ters of  those  who  were  gone  as  formed  pleasant  intro- 
ductions to  me.  At  last  our  work  was  done,  and  we 
stood  off  and  surveyed  it  with  perfect  satisfaction,  and  I 
felt  as  if  I  could  hardly  wait  until  the  evening  to  see  its 
full  results. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

AN    OLD   VIRGINIA   CHRISTMAS   DINNER. 

IT  does  not  seem  to  be  much  the  fashion  in  Virginia 
either  to  give  or  accept  invitations  for  dinner  on  Christ- 
mas-day ;  it  is  essentially  a  family  festival,  with  which 
the  stranger  does  not  intermeddle, — so  that  we  had  no 
invited  guests  for  the  day ;  but  this  fact  did  not  prevent 
a  good  deal  of  anxiety  on  my  part  about  the  success  of 
my  dinner,  and  my  other  duties  and  pleasures  were  inter- 
spersed with  frequent  runs  down  into  the  pantry  and 
kitchen  to  see  how  everything  was  getting  on;  each  turn, 
however,  convinced  me  more  and  more  that  matters  were 
in  the  hands  of  abler  administrators  than.  I  could  ever  be, 
and  I  could  only  look  around  and  admire.  There  were 
huge  pyramids  of  cake,  looking  like  mountains  of  snow; 
and  the  sparkling  jelly,  shaking  its  amber  sides  in  the 
white  foam  of  cream  ;  Charlotte-russe  ;  blanc-mange  ; 
mince-pies,  etc.  I  was  just  flattering  myself  that  I  was 
quite  successfully  hiding  my  ignorance  with  regard  to  the 
modus  operandi  of  these  things,  when  I  espied  a  queer- 
looking  dish,  made  up  of  about  a  dozen  hen's-eggs  in  the 
midst  of  preserved  lemon-peel,  cut  to  imitate  straw. 

"  Yery  pretty,"  thought  I ;  "  but,  goodness,  who  wants 
to  eat  boiled  eggs  at  dessert  ?"  So  I  very  humbly  ven- 
tured to  say,  "  Mammy,  are  the  eggs  boiled  hard  or  soft  ?" 
She  looked  at  me  for  a  minute,  and  then  burst  into  a 
hearty  laugh,  and  said, — 

(69) 


70  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"  Why,  law,  missus,  where  is  you  been  livin'  that  you 
don't  know  about  hen's-nests?  Why,  them  ain't  real 
eggs,  them's  '  blank  niong'  hardened  in  egg-shells." 

I  felt  very  much  like  the  king  of  England  who  puzzled 
his  stupid  brain  to  find  how  the  apple  got  into  the  dump- 
ling ;  but  I  was  too  much  crestfallen  to  ask  any  more 
questions,  and  retired  up-stairs,  feeling  that  I  had  lost 
caste  with  the  directors  of  the  lower  regions,  at  any 
rate. 

At  last  dinner  was  announced  by  Robin,  and  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  anything  so  beautiful  as  the  table 
stretched  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  long  room, 
with  its  rich  array  of  silver  and  china,  set  out  so  taste- 
fully on  the  cloth  of  the  finest  damask,  which  fairly  glis- 
tened in  its  snowy  whiteness, — whilst  the  sun,  peeping 
through  the  half-closed  shutters,  threw  a  thousand  rays 
of  refracted  light  through  the  cut-glass  decanters  and 
tumblers. 

I  suppose  I  shall  see  many  such  dinners  if  I  live  in 
Virginia  much  longer,  but  certainly  this  was  the  very 
best  I  had  ever  seen  up  to  that  time.  It  was  none  of 
your  French  affairs  where  the  food  is  brought  in  by  piece- 
meal, and  you  are  forced,  for  politeness'  sake,  to  make  a 
gourmand  of  yourself  by  eating  long  after  your  appetite 
is  satisfied  ;  here  everything  was  set  on  the  table  at  once, 
and  surely  it  was  enough  for  a  regiment, — the  immense 
saddles  of  venison  and  mutton,  the  huge  turkeys,  ducks, 
etc., — for  it  would  take  a  week  to  describe  it  all.  I 
would  have  been  appalled  at  the  waste  if  Mr.  Holcombe 
had  not  told  me  that  on  Christmas-day  every  servant  on 
the  place  had  a  piece  of  the  Christmas  dinner,  so  it  must 
needs  be  a  bountiful  one.  The  sweetest  incident  of  the 
day,  in  my  opinion,  occurred  just  after  the  first  course 
had  been  removed.  I  was  beginning  to  wonder  what 


AN  OLD   VIRGINIA    CHRISTMAS  DINNER.         fl 

was  the  cause  of  the  little  pause  in  tbe  operations,  and 
why  George  and  Harry  Holcolmbe  and  Ellen  Randolph 
had  left  the  table,  when  the  folding-doors  opening  into 
the  parlor  were  thrown  back,  and  the  three  absentees 
stood  in  the  vacuum,  and  the  sweetest  childish  voices  I 
ever  heard  sang  the  following  verses,  written,  as  I  after- 
wards learned,  by  my  brother  George : 

WELCOME  TO  THE  BRIDE. 

"  Then  welcome,  thrice  welcome  we  bid  thee,  sweet  lady, 
To  the  land  of  the  loved  one  who  sits  by  thy  side, 

To  the  halls  where  his  gathering  clansmen  are  ready 
To  cheer  with  their  welcome  the  bonnie  young  bride. 

"Here  are  sisters  and  brothers,  and  kinsfolk  and  friends, 
No  tless  leal  and  true-hearted  and  honest  than  thine, 

Whose  soothing  caresses  can  make  you  amends 
For  those  yet  more  dear  whose  loss  you  repine. 

"Though  fair  be  the  fields  where  in  childhood  you've  played, 
And  though  bright  be  the  skies  of  your  dear  native  land, 

Yet  our  mountains  and  valleys  are  also  arrayed 
In  nature's  rare  beauties  with  liberal  hand. 

"  Then  welcome,  thrice  welcome  we  bid  thee,  sweet  bride, 
Let  affection's  kind  offering  thy  spirit  beguile; 

Forget  for  a  moment  who  sits  by  thy  side, 

And  your  minstrels  reward  with  your  beautiful  smile." 

How  sweet!  how  kind!  to  welcome  the  stranger  thus, 
I  was  thinking,  and  then  memory  traveled  back,  back 
through  the  long  years,  many  a  mile  away  across  the 
ocean,  to  my  old  home.  But  I  no  longer  felt  like  a 
stranger  in  a  strange  land.  These  warm-hearted  people 
had  taken  me  to  their  hearts,  and  mine  responded  warmly 
to  the  greeting.  I  was  roused  by  George's  voice,  saying, 
laughingly,  "  Why,  Jean,  little  sister,  I  did  not  mean  to 
make  you  cry."  And  then  I  became  conscious,  for  the  first 
time,  that  my  tears  were  falling  rapidly. 

"  It  is  but  a  shower  in  the  sunshine,  which  is  more  of  a 


72  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

smile  than  a  tear.  Brother  George,"  said  I,  driving  away 
the  drops,  "  this  is  truly  the  sweetest  surprise  I  could 
have  had." 

Next  followed  the  Christmas  toasts,  to  which  each  one 
of  the  family  was  expected  to  contribute  a  mite.  Mr. 
Holcombe's  was  the  first,  delivered  with  a  great  deal  of 
feeling, — all,  of  course,  standing  around  the  table  "  To 
the  memory  of  our  parents.  May  their  descendants  emu- 
late their  virtues,  so  that  in  their  turn  their  children  may 
'  rise  up  and  call  them  blessed.'  " 

Mr.  Randolph. — "  To  Virginia,  the  mother  of  states- 
men. May  we,  her  children,  live  worthy  of  her  name, 
that  like  the  mother  of  the  Gracchi,  when  asked  for  her 
jewels,  she  may  be  able  to  point  to  her  sons." 

Robin  had  been  dispatched  for  Mammy,  who  now  en- 
tered and  stood  behind  brother  George's  chair;  he  gave — 
"  Our  dear  old  Mammy,  whose  fostering  care  was  over 
us  in  our  infancy  and  youth,  and  whose  tender  faithful- 
ness has  soothed  the  dying  hours  of  so  many  of  our 
loved  ones.  May  she  long  be  spared  to  be  a  blessing  to 
us  all  and  to  teach  the  present  generation  that  a  faithful 
servant  can  well  be  an  honored  friend." 

Sister  Mary. — "  To  the  stranger  within  our  gates. 
May  the  mantle  of  her  predecessors  descend  upon  her, 
and  like  them,  may  she  live  in  the  memory  of  the  children 
of  her  generation  as  the  great  heart  and  bountiful  hand  of 
their  childhood." 

Sister  Annie. — "  Whilst  we  are  enjoying  these  bless- 
ings, may  we  none  of  us  forget  whence  they  all  come ; 
and  let  us  also  remember  that  our  great  rejoicing  on  this 
natal  day  is  over  the  gift  of  God  to  the  world  in  the 
person  of  his  Son  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 

Ellen  Randolph. — "  Many  happy  returns  of  the  season. 
May  each  one  find  us  wiser,  better,  and  happier." 


AN  OLD  VIRGINIA    CHRISTMAS  DINNER.         73 

Cynthia  Marshall. — "  My  husband  !  whom  everybody 
else  forgets.  May  I  never  sit  down  to  another  Christmas 
dinner  without  him." 

Margaret. — "  My  mother's  memory.  May  she  ever  live 
in  the  hearts  of  her  children." 

George  Holcombe,  Jr.  —  "  To  Christmas-day.  Here- 
after may  we  be  blessed  with  two  such  seasons  in  the 
year  instead  of  one." 

Mary  Mason. — "  Rose  Hill,  the  kindly  roof  which 
always  extends  a  hospitable  welcome  to  us  all.  May  it 
ever  live  in  our  memories  as  the  scene  of  our  happiest 
days." 

Harry  Holcombe. — "  To  the  absent  members  of  our 
circle:  though  absent  in  the  body,  may  they  be  present  in 
the  spirit  at  this  our  Christmas  gathering." 

Mary  Holcombe. — "  To  mamma.  '  Her  children  rise  up 
and  call  her  blessed.  Her  husband  also ;  and  he  praiseth 
her.' » 

Johnny. — "  To  this  good  dinner.  May  we  never  have 
a  worse, — and  always  have  the  teeth  to  eat  it." 

Jean. — "  To  the  Holcombe  clan.  May  their  loving 
kindness  to  the  stranger  be  returned  sevenfold  into  their 
own  bosoms  in  time  of  need." 

Lilias. — "To  you  all,  ladies  and  gentlemen." 

I  have  not  attempted  to  describe  the  scene  as  sentiment 
after  sentiment  was  given  out.  Such  an  April  day,  made 
up  of  clouds  and  sunshine,  I  have  witnessed.  Johnny's 
essay  probably  excited  as  much  merriment  as  any  other ; 
particularly  when  the  explanation  was  given  that  he  had 
been  a  perfect  martyr  to  toothache  for  some  time  past, 
and  was  even  now  "holding  his  jaw." 

But  I  must  not  linger  too  long  over  this  part  of  my 
story,  for  the  door  is  thrown  open,  and  I  cannot  suppress 
a  scream  as  Robin  makes  his  appearance  in  a  blaze  of 

7 


74  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

blue  flame.  One  moment  shows  me  that  he  is  bearing-  in 
liis  hands  the  enormous  plum-pudding,  and  the  fire  which 
so  alarmed  me  is  only  licking  up  the  French  brandy 
with  which  it  had  been  saturated. 

The  dessert  was  beautiful  and  beautifully  served  :  and 
I  sat  by,  receiving  the  compliments  on  the  success  of  the 
dinner,  with  the  preparation  of  which  I  had  had  so  little 
to  do.  I  could  not  resist  whispering  to  sister  Annie  the 
account  of  my  faux  pas  about  the  hen's-nest.  She  laughed 
very  much,  and  kindly  relieved  my  curiosity  about  how 
the  blanc-mange  got  into  the  shells. 

The  eggs  are  broken  very  little  at  one  end,  and  the 
contents  discharged  through  the  hole.  The  blanc-mange 
finds  its  ingress  in  the  same  way;  and  when  it  is  hard- 
ened, the  shells  are  taken  off,  and  the  pretty  mould  is  laid 
in  its  nest  of  candied  lemon-peel. 

I  wonder  if  I  will  ever  be  a  good  housekeeper  ?  I  am 
going  to  try,  because  I  cannot  always  expect  to  have 
Mammy  and  Mrs.  Bascombe  to  do  everything  for  me. 

But  at  last  the  dinner  is  over,  and  we  all  adjourn  to 
our  rooms  to  rest  awhile  before  the  enjoyments  of  the 
evening  commence. 

"Why,  Jean,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe,  following  me  into 
my  room,  "my  little  wife  has  won  golden  opinions  from 
all  sorts  of  people, — and  what  did  you  think  of  it  all  ? 
Ain't  Christmas  a  grand  time  in  our  Virginian  mount- 
ains?" 

"  Yes,"  said  I ;  "  and  if  all  the  people  in  the  world 
were  like  you  dear  Holcombes,  I  would  not  cai'e  to  go  to 
heaven." 

"Well,  little  woman,  you  see  the  sunny  side  of  us  now. 
We  are  pretty  much  lite  other  people,  only  possibly  a 
little  more  buoyant  and  light-hearted  ;  but  we  have  oui1 
troubles  too.  But  ain't  George  a  glorious  old  fellow  ?" 


AN  OLD   VIRGINIA    CHRISTMAS  DINNER.         75 

"Indeed  he  is;  and  that  '  Welcome  to  the  Bride'  was 
the  sweetest  thing  I  ever  heard.  How  beautifully  those 
children  sing!" 

"Yes,  they  begin  almost  before  they  can  talk,  all  ot 
them.  George  and  his  wife  both  sing:  and  they  hear 
music  from  the  time  they  are  born.  I  think  that,  probably, 
has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it." 

"What  kind  of  person  is  his  wife?" 

"  As  different  from  him  as  you  can  well  imagine  two 
people  to  be.  She  is  the  most  quiet,  gentle  person  you 
ever  saw.  Very  tall,  fair,  with  a  soft  voice  and  perfectly 
placid  countenance.  George  teases  her  all  the  time.  And 
she  takes  it  so  calmly  that  you  would  think  that  he 
could  find  no  enjoyment  in  it, — but  he  does.  She  is  very 
proud  of  him,  and,  I  suppose,  devoted  to  him ;  bnt  she 
never  shows  it  to  any  human  being.  She  has  what  is 
always  styled  'one  of  your  enviable  tempers;'  and  I  sup- 
pose it  is,  though  I  confess  to  liking  a  little  more  mercury. 
Now,  I  know  a  diminutive  piece  of  humanity  who  hardly 
needs  language,  because  you  have  only  to  look  into  her 
face  to  read  all  she  feels  at  once.  Now,  tell  me  the  truth, 
little  woman,  did  you  cry  or  laugh  most  to-day  ?" 

"Well,"  she  answered,  "I  could  with  great  propriety 
ask  you  the  same  question ;  for  I  saw  your  tears  more 
than  once,  and  you  are  an  older  soldier  than  I  am." 

"  Well,  I  plead  guilty,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe  ;  "  the  fact 
is,  a  smile  and  a  tear  lie  very  near  together  sometimes. 
And  such  seasons  always  bring  back  father  and  mother 
so  vividly,  but  not  painfully.  I  would  not  have  missed 
this  Christmas  here  for  anything :  it  has  been  the  very 
best  introduction  you  could  have  had  to  the  '  Holcombe 
clan.' " 


76  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

MARY'S  DIARY. 

December  21th But  I  think  of  all  the  merry 

times  of  this  Christmas  the  two  Christmas-trees  were  the 
best.  Mamma  said  that  we  children  might  fix  the  tree 
for  the  people  while  they  fixed  the  one  for  the  "  white 
folks."  So  off  we  ran  to  the  wash-house  and  found  a 
great  big  tree  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  a  table  by  it 
piled  up  with  all  sorts  of  things.  There  were  all  the 
things  Lilias  and  myself  have  been  working  on  for  the 
last  ten  days.  The  bright-colored  tarlatan  bags  filled 
with  candy,  with  the  names  of  each  one  of  the  people  on 
them.  Bachelor  pin-cushions,  little  flannel  needle-books, 
little  doll-babies,  bags  of  colored  marbles,  balls,  hand- 
kerchiefs, cravats,  ribbons,  etc.  Ob,  the  laugh  we  had 
over  the  collection :  and  then  the  fun  we  had  putting  them 
up  on  the  tree !  Harry  Holcombe  said  he  knew  there 
was  not  another  tree  in  the  whole  world  which  bore  at 
the  same  time  head-handkerchiefs  and  bachelor  pin- 
cushions, oranges  and  apples ;  but  it  certainly  did  look 
pretty  when  it  was  done,  with  Uncle  Armstead's  red 
comforter  on  the  top  branch,  and  Mammy's  new  turban 
just  below  it,  and  the  doll-babies  sticking  their  heads 
out  between  the  green  twigs  in  every  direction.  We 
wanted  to  put  wax  candles  on  the  tree,  but  mamma  said 
we  had  better  not,  because  there  was  so  much  combusti- 
bles about  it  that  she  was  afraid  of  fire,  so  we  put  a  row 
of  candles  on  the  mantel-piece  behind  it. 

And  then,  when  everything  was  lighted  up,  and  we 
opened  the  doors  and  let  all  the  people  in,  it  was  too 
good.  Everybody  on  the  place  was  there,  from  old 
Mammy  and  Uncle  Bob  to  Chloe's  baby ;  all  dressed  in 
their  new  winter  suits,  and  looking  so  nice.  They  had 
none  of  them  ever  seen  a  Christmas-tree  before ;  and  I 


AN  OLD   VIRGINIA    CHRISTMAS  DINNER.         77 

don't  know  what  they  could  have  thought  of  it,  but  they 
certainly  were  pleased :  nobody  could  think  anything  else 
tha£  looked  at  them ;  their  eyes  were  as  big  as  moons, 
and  their  teeth  as  white  as  the  palings  around  the 
garden. 

And  when  Harry  and  George  and  Johnny  mounted  up 
and  took  down  the  things,  and  called  out  their  names,  they 
must  have  heard  them  laugh  in  the  house,  and  you  heard 
all  over  the  room,  "  Thank  ye,  marster.  I  knowed  you 
wouldn't  forgit  me,  marster." 

Aunt  Annie  said  we  could  understand  now  what  the 
Bible  meant  by  "it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  re- 
ceive," because  we  enjoyed  this  part  more  even  than  our 
own  tree,  which  was  really  so  much  more  beautiful. 

After  the  tree  was  stripped,  I  told  all  the  people  that 
papa  said  Sam  and  Ned  might  get  their  banjo  and  fiddle, 
and  all  of  them  could  have  a  dance  in  the  wash-house. 
So  off  they  went,  and  soon  tables,  tree,  and  everything 
were  cleared  away,  and  I  ran  off  to  tell  mamma,  because 
she  was  so  anxious  to  see  them  dance.  She  looked 
through  the  door  opening  into  the  kitchen,  because  she 
was  afraid  she  would  embarrass  them  if  she  went  in  the 
room.  She  says  it  was  like  a  picture.  There  was  Sam 
with  his  banjo,  and  Ned  with  his  violin,  playing  in  front 
of  the  fire,  while  Jim  and  Bill  stood  on  the  hearth  by 
them,  clapping  to  the  tune,  and  Sandy  had  his  bones. 
Mamma  thinks  the  clapping  is  very  .wonderful,  the  time 
is  so  perfect;  and  they  beat  themselves  on  their  breasts, 
knees,  feet,  sides,  and  the  back  of  their  hands  without 
getting  out  once.  You  could  tell  the  tune  without  any 
instrument  to  help  ;  and  mamma  thinks  the  dancing  is  so 
much  prettier  than  white  people's  dancing,  because  they 
arc  so  free  in  their  movements,  so  active;  and  when  they 
dance  up  to  each  other,  with  their  arms  akimbo,  and  then 

7* 


78  THE  HO  LOOMS  ES. 

cross  over  and  go  down  in  a  line,  and  stop  and  shuffle,  it 
is  certainly  pretty.  But  mamma  had  to  laugh  at  Rachel : 
she  jumps  up  and  down,  and  then  round  in  a  ring,  all 
the  time,  and  looks  so  awfully  solemn,  it  is  like  she  was 
at  a  funeral. 

Mamma  and  Cousin  Cynthia  Marshall  stayed  there  a 
long  time,  but  at  last  we  all  had  to  go  in  to  tea,  and  after 
tea  we  had  our  tree.  But  I  am  too  tired  to  write  about 
that  now.  I  will  have  to  do  it  to-morrow. 

December  28th.  We  knew  the  time  had  come  for  our 
tree  when  Robin  came  in  and  lowered  all  the  lights,  and 
then  the  folding-doors  were  opened,  and  there  was  the 
great  big  tree  with  wax  lights,  twinkling  from  one  end 
to  the  other,  and  no  end  of  covnucopiae  and  bundles 
wrapped  in  white  paper ;  and  there  stood  Uncle  George 
in  his  white  beard  and  fur  cap,  with  a  long  stick  in  his 
hand.  He  stepped  forward  as  the  door  opened,  and  re- 
peated the  following  verses  in  a  very  loud  voice : 

"At  this  his  own  season  St.  Nicholas  coines, 

To  give  you  a  merry  greeting; 
He  has  left  the  gay  towns  and  luxurious  homes 

To  attend  this  family  meeting. 

"  Dull  Care  is  bidden  to  quit  us  with  haste, 

Nor  deem  himself  one  of  this  party; 
While  Business  withdraws,  showing  thus  his  good  taste, 

And  leaves  us  to  merriment  hearty. 

"  In  times  that  arc  old,  St.  Nick,  you  are  told, 

Always  appeared  with  a  pack, 
Which  was  stuffed  just  as  full  as  it  ever  could  hold 

With  knick-knacks,  and  strapped  on  his  back. 

"But  in  these  times  we  call  later,  so  travelers  say, 

In  a  land  far  over  the  ocean, 
They've  discovered  a  tree,  which  each  Christmas-day 

Hangs  loaded  with  many  a  notion. 


AN  OLD   VIRGINIA    CHRISTMAS  DINNER.         79 

"  A  root  of  this  plant  I  contrived  to  procure  you, 
And  have  watered  and  nursed  it  with  care; 

Its  results  are  apparent,  you  see  them  before  you, 
Come  forward  and  claim  its  fruits  rare." 

And  then  we  all  went  in  the  other  room  while  Uncle 
George  took  off  the  packages  with  his  stick  and  handed 
them  to  each  of  us.  Everybody  found  just  what  they 
wanted,  and  everybody  looked  as  happy  as  possible. 
Mamma  had  more,  of  course,  than  any  one  else,  because 
she  is  the  bride  and  the  newcomer,  but  we  all  got  beau- 
tiful presents. 

Mamma  gave  Lilias  such  a  beautiful  little  work-box, 
with  the  tiniest  little  scissors  and  thimble,  and  every- 
thing she  could  want  in  it,  and  papa  gave  her  the  Rollo 
Series,  or,  as  she  calls  it,  her  "Rollo  serious." 

And  John  has  "Tales  of  a  Grandfather,"  and  a  splendid 
knife,  and  some  gardening-tools. 

Margie  has  a  pretty  little  watch  from  papa,  and  I  a 
pair  of  bracelets,  and  mamma  gave  me  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  Novels,  beautifully  bound.  Uncle  George  gave 
Margie  and  myself  an  album  apiece,  with  some  verses  in 
them,  as  a  dedication,  he  says.  I  don't  know  exactly 
what  that  is,  but  the  verses  are  very  pretty.  Margie's 
are  these  : 

"  Go,  pretty  book, 

And  when  upon  thy  snowy  page 
My  fair  shall  look, 

Tell  her  whose  love  I  would  engage 
That  to  my  partial  eye  she  seems  to  be 
More  pure  and  spotless,  pretty  book,  than  thee ! 

"  Tell  her,  when  treasures  rare, 

Fair  volume,  in  thy  page  shall  meet, 
That  then  I  will  compare 

To  her  own  mind  thy  tessellated  sheet, 
Where  taste  and  heavenly  poesy  combine 
T<>  n.nke  mosaic  of  this  page  of  thine. 


80  THE  HO  LOOMS  ES. 

"  Or  tell  her  that  I  send 

An  empty  casket  to  her  care, 
And  bid  my  friend 

Store  it  unstintingly  with  jewels  rare, 
Culled  by  young  Fancy  from  the  heaps  that  lie 
In  the  full  treasures  of  fair  Poesy. 

"Or  let  me  liken  thee 

To  the  smooth  surface  of  a  lake, 
In  which  we  love  to  see 

The  stars  of  heaven  reflected  back. 
When  night  unrolls  to  the  enchanted  eye 
The  spangled  curtain  of  the  dark-blue  sky. 

"  Above  the  rest  resplendent, 

The  bard  of  Avon's  nameless  star 
Shines  lord  of  the  ascendent, 

And  shoots  his  blazing  meteors  far; 
While  next  great  Milton's  sapphire  rays 
Pour  on  the  eye  the  bright  empyrean  blaze. 

"But,  ah  !  the  attempt  were  vain 

To  number  all  the  starry  host 
That  in  her  splendid  train 

Bright-eyed  Poesy  can  boast, 

These  glimmering  faintly,  while  with  powerful  ray 
Those  shoot  abroad  as  genial  as  the  day. 

"  Disdain  not  yet  the  beam 

That  Genius  scatters  from  his  glittering  car, 
Although  it  may  not  gleam 

From  Byron's  sun  or  Moore's  bright  morning  star, 
But,  gathering  all  their  rich  and  varied  dyes, 
Shine  like  a  rainbow  in  the  vernal  skies." 

The  verses  in  mine  were  called 

AN  ALBUM  A  FEAST. 

"An  Album  should  be  like  a  ladies' feast, 
Where  many  sweet  and  dainty  dishes  meet, 

And,  from  the  greatest  even  to  the  least, 
The  guest  expects  to  find  each  dish  a  treat. 


AN  OLD   VIRGINIA    CHRISTMAS  DINNER.         81 

"  Then  let  me,  Mary,  as  a  friend  advise 

What  kind  of  dishes  you  should  here  prepare; 
But  first  I'll  bid  you,  if  you  would  be  wise, 

Be  sure  to  choose  your  cooks  with  special  care. 
Admit,  I  pray  you,  men  of  taste  alone, 

Whose  haut  gout  teaches  to  select  with  skill, 
And  with  discernment  season  what's  their  own 

With  spices,  Attic  salt,  or  what  you  will. 

"  The  cooks  selected,  be  it  next  your  care 
The  viands  suited  to  the  board  to  choose, — 

To  cater  for  your  guests  the  tempting  fare 
Fastidious  appetites  will  not  refuse. 

And,  first,  as  tongue's  excluded  from  the  table, 
Why,  you  must  try  to  make  it  up  with  brains, 

With  brains  of  living  bards,  if  you  are  able: 

If  not — why,  then,  of  those  whose  deathless  strains, 
Breathed  from  abroad,  have  reached  our  distant  plains. 

"  Some  folks  there  .are — and  such  you  often  see, — 
Who,  poor  and  proud,  or  stingy  (fie  upon  it!), 

Serve  up  hot  water,  and  miscall  it  tea, 
And  give  soup  maigre  in  a  washy  sonnet. 

Another  offers  you  a  hollow  puff 

Of  empty  praise — it  was  not  worth  his  pains  ; 

This  gives  acrostic  kisses, — wretched  stuff! 

That  turns  the  stomach  with  his  puling  strains, 
Or  cudgels  mazy  nonsense  from  his  barren  brains. 

".Others  there  are  who  fain  would  see  a  part 

Of  your  fair  pages  with  religion  graced, 
Nor  think  the  aspirations  of  the  heart 

Wedged  in  with  trifles  are  at  all  misplaced. 
I  think  not  so  !    Religion's  sacred  lore 

To  her  own  holy  books  should  be  confined  ; 
Her  sovereign  balm,  that  every  ill  can  cure, 

That  cleansed  the  leper  and  restored  the  blind, 

Is  not  for  albums  more  than  feasts  designed. 

"  Let  no  untutored  scullion  undertake 

Tp  serve  your  board,  to  bake  your  household  bread, 

To  make  your  pasties  that  one's  teeth  will  break, 
And  sodden  puddings,  heavier  than  lead, 
In  form  and  substance  like  the  dunce's  head  ; 


82  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

But  men  who  of  fair  Avon's  stately  swan 
Are  well  content  to  make  a  standing  dish, 

Who  draw  their  nectar  ever  and  anon 

From  Milton's  sacred  fount,  nor  better  wish 
Than  from  Lord  Byron's  piscary  to  fish." 

I  don't  understand  mine  as  well  as  Margie's.  It  seems 
to  me  it  would  do  as  well  for  a  cookery  book  as  an 
album, — all  about  puddings  and  fish  and  cooks,  etc.  I 
didn't  like  not  to  look  pleased  when  Uncle  George  was 
so  kind  as  to  write  it  for  me ;  but  I  can't  help  being  sorry 
he  put  that  kind  of  poetry  in  my  album,  it  looks  as  if 
he  thought  I  was  so  fond  of  eating.  I  feel  like  putting 
my  book  away,  and  not  letting  any  one  see  it.  I  wonder 
if  he  did  mean  I  liked  eating  too  much  ?  I  hope  not. 


CHAPTER    X. 

A    FAMILY   CONSULTATION,  AND   WHAT   CAME   OF   IT. 

IT  was  the  day  after  Christmas,  and  Mr.  Holcombe 
had  proposed  an  adjournment  to  the  library  after  break- 
fast. The  invitation  was  accepted  by  several  of  the  older 
members  of  the  party,  including  Mr.  George  Holcombe7 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randolph,  and  Mrs.  Mason. 

The  gentlemen  lighted  their  cigars,  and  lounged  in 
what  we  must  confess  to  be  true  Virginia  style,  with 
their  chairs  tilted  back,  and  their  knees  considerably 
higher  than  the  laws  of  grace  would  demand ;  while  the 
ladies  each  had  her  work  or  knitting  at  hand,  and  Robin 
piled  the  andirons  with  huge  sticks  of  hickory-wood, 
which  sparkled  and  cracked  in  the  most  convivial  and 
chatty  manner. 

"Look  here,  Ned,"  said  Mr.  George  Holcombe,  turning 
to  his  brother,  "  what  is  the  difficulty  with  Margaret  ? 
She  does  not  look  or  act  like  herself.  I  hardly  know  the 
child.  It  has  been  worrying  me  ever  since  I  came." 

The  blood  rose  to  Mr.  Holcombe's  cheek,  showing  that 
the  subject  touched  upon  was  very  near  to  his  heart,  and 
could  only  be  stirred  delicately.  He  did  not  reply  for  a 
minute,  and  then  it  was  in  rather  a  low  tone. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  have  been  debating  with  myself  whether 
it  would  not  be  better  to  consult  you  all  about  that  very 
matter,  which  is  a  great  trouble  to  me ;  but  I  don't  much 
like  to  talk  to  any  one  about  my  own  child." 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  feel  that  way  about  us, 
Ned,"  said  Mr.  George  Holcombe.  "  I  don't  think  there 

(83) 


84  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

is  any  great  difference  between  one's  own  children  and 
those  of  one's  brother  and  sisters.  I  am  leaving  my 
two  boys  with  you,  old  fellow,  believing  this  from  my 
heart." 

''Well,  the  fact  is, "Margaret  has  never  become  recon- 
ciled to  my  marriage.  She  undertook  to  oppose  it  violently 
at  first,  which  I  was  not  very  much  surprised  at ;  but  I 
confess  I  did  expect  that  after — after  the  change  took 
place,  and  she  knew  how  much  I  had  acted  for  the  happi- 
ness of  all  parties,  her  good  sense  would  lead  her  to 
rejoice  in  it.  But  I  have  been  disappointed.  She  has 
preserved  this  moody,  uncompromising  manner  through- 
out. I  don't  think  she  has  ever  voluntarily  spoken  to 

Jean,  and,  when  forced  to  do  so,  has Well,  it  had 

better  not  have  been  done  at  all." 

"  Yes,  I  have  observed  it  ever  since  our  arrival,"  said 
Mrs.  Mason,  "  and  grieved  over  it.  I  think  she  is  the 
victim  of  a  morbid  idea,  which,  if  not  cured,  may  do  her 
and  all  of  you  great  harm." 

"And  have  you  never  spoken  to  her  on  the  subject  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Randolph,  turning  to  Mr.  Holcombe,  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  No,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  have  not  since  I  first  broke 
to  her  the  news  of  my  intentions.  The  scene  then  was 
so  painful  that  I  did  not  care  to  repeat  it.  It  is  true,  I 
have  been  near  it  more  than  once,  when  her  manner  to 
my  wife  was  unbearable  almost.  But  Jean  is  so  opposed 
to  my  saying  anything,  and,  indeed,  has  exacted  from  me 
a  sort  of  promise  that  I  will  leave  the  cure  to  time." 

"  Kindly  meant,  but  unwise,  you  may  depend  upon  it," 
said  Mrs.  Mason  ;  "  the  disease  is  growing  worse  instead 
of  better ;  each  day  increases  the  evil.  Of  course,  she 
has  no  tangible  ground  of  complaint.  1  have  never  seen 
any  one  occupy  the  position  of  stepmother  more  grace- 


A   FAMILY  CONSULTATION,  ETC.  85 

fully  than  Jean  does.  Their  own  mother  could  not  do 
more." 

Mr.  Holcombe  reached  out  his  hand,  and,  with  a  smile, 
pressed  that  of  his  sister  in  his  own.  It  was  a  slight 
action,  but  showed  his  sensitiveness  to  anything  which 
concerned  his  wife. 

"  Thank  you,  Annie.  I  don't  know  how  anybody  can 
resist  her ;  but  Margaret  does  most  successfully.  The 
fact  is,  Jean  is  the  more  sensitive  on  the  subject,  because 
she  suffered  misery  from  a  harsh  stepmother  herself. 
She  never  told  me  very  much  about  it ;  but  I  am  sure  it 
was  her  positive  unkindness  which  caused  her  to  accept 
her  old  aunt's  invitation  to  come  over  here  and  make  her 
home  with  her;  which  she  did  nearly  nine  years  ago. 
And  she  lived  with  her  up  to  the  time  of  her  death,  which 
happened  about  two  years  since.  Mrs.  McDonald  left 
her  a  very  ample  support,  and  her  father  and  brother 
were  anxious  for  her  to  return  home.  She  would  proba- 
bly have  done  so  in  the  end,  but  I  made  other  arrange- 
ments for  her.  These  circumstances  of  her  life  make  her 
of  course  more  sensitive  than  she  would  otherwise  be 
about  her  position  here.  And  she  becomes  so  nervously 
anxious  every  time  she  thinks  I  am  going  to  speak  to 
Margaret  that  I  really  could  not  do  it:  and  I  should  not 
be  surprised  if  she  had  endured  more  even  than  I  know." 

"Well,  Ned,"  said  Mr.  George  Holcombe,  bluntly,  "I 
don't  think  any  man  has  a  right  to  allow  his  wife  to  be 
insulted  even  by  his  child ;  and  if  I  were  in  your  place, 
Miss  Margaret  should  either  behave  herself  or  I  would 
send  her  out  of  the  house." 

"Oh,  George,"  said  Mrs.  Randolph,  "don't  talk  so 
harshly.  There  is  no  one  in  this  world  so  indulgent  as 
you  are,  or  who  allow  their  children  to  walk  over  them 

8 


86  THE  nOLCOMBES. 

more  completely  than  you  do.  I  know  it  is  all  talk,  but 
I  don't  like  to  bear  it." 

Here  the  laugh  turned  on  Mr.  George,  who  was  not  at 
all  remarkable  for  the  good  discipline  of  his  household. 
A  laugh  in  which  he,  too,  joined. 

"  But  I  would  not  be  surprised  if  to  send  Margaret 
away  for  a  time  would  be  the  true  solution  of  the  diffi- 
culty," said  Mrs.  Mason.  "  I  think  the  danger  to  her  is 
greater  than  to  Jean  if  she  grows  morbid  and  reserved 
and  nurses  this  idea;  but  if  she  goes  away  to  school,  you 
may  depend  upon  it,  she  will  think  of  her  home  very 
differently.  I  think  Jean  feels  naturally  on  the  subject ; 
and  I  have  a  good  deal  of  sympathy  with  Margaret  too. 
She  was  very  much  devoted  to  her  mother;  and  it  is 
naturally  a  trial  to  see  her  place  filled.  I  think  a  great 
deal  of  patience  ought  to  be  exercised  towards  her." 

And  this  idea  would  undoubtedly  have  been  carried 
into  effect  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  interposition  of  Jean, 
who  opposed  it  with  all  the  vehemence  of  her  nature. 
It  was  agonizing  to  her  to  think  of  Margaret  being  ban- 
ished from  her  home  on  her  account.  It  seemed  her  own 
story  over  again;  and  she  wept  as  bitterly  as  if  she  her- 
self had  acted  the  harsh  stepmother,  bringing  discord 
into  her  husband's  house,  and  scattering  his  children.  So 
the  plan  was  abandoned. 

Mrs.  Mason  spoke  to  Margaret  tenderly  of  her  duty, 
but  with  no  apparent  effect.  She  looked  stern  in  her 
composure,  but  only  said,  softly, — 

'•  It  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  judge  for  me,  aunty; 
I  am  obliged  to  do  what  I  think  right,  no  matter  what 
the  consequences  may  be.  Meanwhile  I  forgive  you;  I 
know  you  have  acted  for  the  best." 

"Bless  the  child!"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  as  Margaret  left 
the  room  after  having  imprinted  her  kiss  of  unasked  for- 


A    FAMILY   CONSULTATION,  ETC.  8f 

giveness  on  her  cheek.  "I  don't  want  any  forgiveness; 
I  don't  understand  what  she  means.  She  seems  to  have 
built  up  a  wall  of  fancied  duty  and  fenced  herself  in  with 
self-approbation,  until  she  imagines  all  the  world  is  wrong 
and  she  alone  right.  Well,  well,  when  young  people  get 
to  that  pass  they  have  to  be  left  to  their  heavenly  Father's 
unerring  discipline  ;  He  will  bring  it  all  right  at  last  if  it 
is  through  much  tribulation." 

Monday  morning  saw  the  dispersion  of  the  happy 
party  at  Rose  Hill.  Everybody  was  sorry  to  go.  Mr. 
George  Holcombe  declared  himself  perfectly  demoralized 
and  unfit  for  any  useful  employment. 

"  You  must  make  Ned  bring  you  to  see  us,  Jean, "said 
he,  as  he  took  leave  of  Mrs.  Holcombe.  "  I  want  you  to 
know  my  wife  ;  she  is  a  great  deal  too  good  for  me,  and 
I  only  wonder  she  was  ever  willing  to  take  charge  of 
such  a  scapegrace  as  I  am  ;  but  come  and  judge  for  your- 
self. She  is  such  a  perfect  Mrs.  Micawber  that  she  never 
can  get  away  from  home.  We  cannot  promise  you  such 
a  welcome  as  you  have  given  us,  but  we  will  try.  The 
fact  is  there  is  something  in  the  air  of  old  Rose  Hill 
which  makes  it  different  from  any  other  place  in  the 
world  to  me." 

Mrs.  Mason,  Mrs.  Randolph,  and  Cynthia  were  equally 
urgent  for  her  to  return  their  visit,  and  so  they  went 
off,  leaving  the  whole  party  standing  in  the  wide  porch 
waving  their  adieus ;  and,  as  the  carriage  drove  into  the 
grove,  Cynthia  stuck  baby  out  of  the  window,  upside- 
down,  as  her  final  farewell. 

For  some  days  after  their  departure  everything  was 
dull  enough.  Jean  went  very  hard  to  work  with  her 
lessons  in  housekeeping,  while  Margie  confined  herself 
more  than  ever  to  her  own  room.  Mary  tried  to  while 
away  the  time  by  reading  her  new  books ;  and  Lilias, 


88  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

surrounded  by  her  innumerable  family,  diligently  em- 
ployed herself  with  her  new  work-box,  which  she  pro- 
nounced "  certainly  the  most  dispensable  thing  she  had 
ever  had." 

The  boys  meanwhile  lived  out  of  doors,  snow-balling, 
rabbit-snaring,  and  squirrel-hunting,  and  all  looked  for- 
ward to  the  advent  of  the  new  teacher  as  some  relief 
from  present  stagnation. 

Mr.  Holcombe  was  probably  the  greatest  sufferer  from 
the  vacuum  which  the  departure  created,  as  a  gentleman 
farmer  in  Virginia  does  not  have  very  full  employment, 
particularly  during  the  winter  season  ;  so  he  engaged  his 
time  in  debating  with  himself  what  course  he  had  better 
pursue  with  regard  to  Margaret,  and  fully  decided  that 
matters  should  not  stand  still  any  longer. 

An  opportunity  for  bringing  matters  to  a  crisis  was 
afforded  him  about  a  week  after  the  dispersion  of  the 
family  party. 

They  were  assembled  at  the  breakfast-table  one  morn- 
ing when  Mr.  Holcombe  said, — 

"  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Williams  this  morning  ; 
he  will  be  here  to-morrow.  So  now,  Mr  John,  you  may 
prepare  yourself  for  action.  I  shall  expect  him  to  be 
very  strict  with  all  of  you." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Margaret,  in  her  loftiest  style,  "  I  hope, 
papa,  you  do  not  expect  me  to  make  an  obedient  pupil. 
I  am  afraid  you  will  be  disappointed  if  you  do." 

"I  certainly  do,  my  daughter,"  he  said;  "and  I  hope 
you  will  always  be  too  much  of  a  lady  to  force  any  great 
exercise  of  authority  from  a  gentleman  teacher." 

"  He  will  be  apt  to  fail  if  he  tries  it,  papa,"  she  said, 
with  the  most  perfect  calmness.  "  I  certainly  never 
intend  to  submit  to  any  one  in  the  world  but  you." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  very  remarkable  for  your  sub- 


A   FAMILY  CONSULTATION,  ETC.  89 

mission  to  nie,  young  lady,"  he  said,  very  sternly;  "but 
I  insist  upon  some  additions  to  your  list  of  sovereigns, 
myself  and  to  whomsoever  I  choose  to  delegate  my 
authority;  your  mamma  first  and  then  your  teacher." 

She  bent  her  eyes  on  her  plate,  and  her  cheek  paled 
slightly  ;  but  she  said,  daringly, — 

"  I  have  no  mamma,  sir." 

"  Leave  the  table,  Margaret,  and  go  to  your  own  room." 

She  got  up  and  left  with  the  same  stolid  look  upon 
her,  and  the  children,  with  awe-struck  faces,  soon  fol- 
lowed, and  Mr.  Holcombe  was  left  alone  with  his  wife, 
whose  tearful  eyes  showed  how  much  she  felt  the  insult. 
He  put  his  arm  about  her  and  said, — 

"  My  darling  wife,  I  want  you  to  release  me  from  the 
promise  I  made  you  some  time  ago ;  I  must  talk  to  that 
wayward  child,  and  see  if  something  cannot  be  done;  this 
state  of  affairs  is  getting  beyond  endurance." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  husband,  please  don't ;  let  us  try  a  little 
longer,"  was  the  answer,  as  she  clasped  his  hands  nerv- 
ously, and  her  voice  took  a  tone  of  passionate  entreaty. 

"Jean,  this  is  almost  childish  in  you;  there,  forgive 
me,  dear,  I  did  not  mean  to  be  harsh  ;  but  you  get  your- 
self into  a  state  of  nervous  agitation  about  this  matter 
which  is  unnecessary  and  unlike  you.  Margaret  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  willful  child,  who,  because 
she  has  been  crossed,  is  indulging  her  temper  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  happiness  of  the  entire  household ;  and  I 
cannot  stand  it  any  longer:  you  must  see  yourself  that 
our  present  course  is  unproductive  of  good  to  any  one  of 
the  parties  concerned.  Instead  of  improving,  she  is  grow- 
ing more  and  more  insolent;  and  in  a  few  days  we  will 
have  a  stranger  added  to  our  family  circle,  who  will  draw 
most  unpleasant  inferences  from  the  evident  condition  of 
affairs." 

8* 


90  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Holcombe,"  sobbed  Jean,  "I  ought  not  to 
have  married  you.  I  might  have  remembered  that  step- 
mothers are  never  welcome.  You  should  have  told  me 
of  Margaret's  opposition." 

"  And  do  you  think  you  would  have  been  justified  in 
refusing  me  because  of  Margaret's  opposition  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  never  would  have  married  you  in  the  world." 

"I  am  sorry,  Jean," — and  Mr.  Holcombe's  voice  as- 
sumed a  grieved  tone, — "  that  I  made  the  happiness  of  my 
life  at  the  expense  of  yours ;  but  it  is  too  late  to  think  of 
that  now,  we  must  patch  up  this  place  in  our  domestic 
affairs  before  the  rent  is  made  worse.  I  shall  speak  to 
Margaret  this  morning,  with  or  without  your  consent.  I 
have  listened  to  your  timidity  long  enough,  and  now  I 
must  act  according  to  my  own  judgment." 

"  Betsey," — to  a  servant  who  had  just  entered  the  room, 
— "go  up-stairs  and  tell  your  Miss  Margaret  I  want  to 
speak  to  her  in  my  study."  And  kissing  his  wife  very 
tenderly,  he  left  her  to  keep  his  appointment. 

Jean  had  not  offered  any  further  opposition  after  she 
found  it  would  be  useless  ;  and,  indeed,  if  she  could  have 
reasoned  at  all  on  the  subject,  she  would  have  found  her- 
self agreeing  with  him ;  but  it  was  a  matter  of  feeling 
and  not  of  reason, — she  hated  to  be  canvassed  even  by  her 
husband  and  his  child,  whose  judgment  she  knew  would 
be  so  unfavorable. 

In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Holcombe  waited  in  his  study 
for  the  interview  with  his  daughter;  but  he  waited  in 
vain.  Presently  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Betsey  ap- 
peared. Miss  Margaret  begged  to  be  excused,  she  was  so 
busy  this  morning.  This  was  indeed  passing  the  point 
where  endurance  ceased  to  be  a  virtue  ;  he  was  a  most 
indulgent  man  to  his  children,  but  had  always  received 
from  them,  hitherto,  the  respect  due  to  his  relations  with 


A   FAMILY  CONSULTATION,  ETC.  91 

them,  and  the  angry  blood  flamed  in  his  face  at  this  cool 
disregard  of  his  wishes. 

"  Is  she  in  her  room  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  I  will  see  her  there.     You  need  not  wait." 

And  he  strode  by  the  woman,  and  mounted  the  broad 
staircase  with  quick,  determined  strides.  Without  the 
ceremony  of  knocking,  he  opened  the  door.  The  refrac- 
tory young  lady  was  seated  before  the  fire,  a  little  pale  it 
is  true,  but  not  otherwise  discomposed. 

"  Margaret,  did  you  understand  that  I  wished  to  speak 
to  you  in  my  study  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and  I  told  Betsey  to  say  that  I  hoped  you 
would  excuse  me,  as  I  was  very  much  occupied  this 
morning." 

He  glanced  at  her  idle  hands,  and  said, — 

"  And  pray,  Miss  Holcombe,  what  were  you  doing  that 
was  more  important  than  attention  to  my  wishes  ?" 

She  cast  down  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  a  half  smile, 
partly  of  daring  and  partly  of  embarrassment,  discomposed 
her  lips  ;  but  she  said  nothing. 

"I  do  not  wonder,"  Mr.  Holcombe  continued,  and  his 
voice  shook  with  anger,  "that  you  hesitate  to  acknowl- 
edge the  subterfuge  to  which  you  resorted  in  order  to 
avoid  an  explanation  with  me ;  an  explanation,  let  me 
tell  you,  which  I  do  not  intend  shall  be  longer  deferred." 

The  bright  black  eyes  were  raised  at  once,  and  she 
said,  very  coolly, — 

"  And  who,  sir,  is  to  blame  that  I  fear  to  meet  my 
father  ?" 

Her  composure  exasperated  him  ;  and  this  tone  of  in- 
jured innocence  threw  him  off  his  guard — he  felt  he  was 
losing  ground. 

"Surely,"  he  said,  "you  cannot  ask  such  a  question 


92  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

for  information  ?  I  return  it  to  you,  and  demand  a  candid 
and  truthful  answer.  Who  is  to  blame  ?" 

The  long,  slender  fingers  interlaced  themselves,  and  the 
nails  seemed  almost  buried  in  the  tender  flesh  in  the  in- 
tensity of  the  clasp ;  but  there  was  no  answer.  Mr. 
Holcombe  eyed  her  keenly  for  a  moment,  then  went  on : 

"  You  refuse  to  answer  me,  then  I  will  tell  you.  For 
nearly  three  months  now  you  have  failed,  utterly  failed, 
in  every  filial  duty.  You  have  alienated  yourself  from 
the  family  circle  and  from  our  hearts.  My  first-born 
child,  from  whom  I  expected  so  much  in  the  way  of  in- 
fluence over  the  younger  children, — you  have  set  them 
an  example  I  pray  God  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  they 
may  never  follow.  You  have  done  everything  to  bring 
discord  into  our  household, — failing  in  that,  you  have 
succeeded  in  administering  a  drop  of  unhappiness  to  each 
one  of  us ;  and  to  yourself  more  than  all.  And  why  has 
all  this  been  done  ?  what  excuse  do  you  offer  for  it  ?" 

She  would  have  answered;  but  he  put  up  his  hand  and 
stopped  her. 

"  Because  I  refused  to  allow  you  to  dictate  to  me  my 
course  in  life ;  because,  forsooth,  I  chose,  in  opposition  to 
your  wishes,  to  take  what  happiness  and  good  God  in  his 
bounty  vouchsafed  to  me  ;  because  I  placed  at  the  head 
of  my  house  one  in  every  way  worthy  to  fill  the  position, 
and  in  the  choice  of  whom  I  was  influenced  scarcely  less 
by  a  consideration  for  the  happiness  of  my  children  than 
my  own." 

A  scarcely  perceptible  smile  of  incredulity  broke  the 
stillness  of  the  obstinate  face, — it  provoked  him  sorely. 

"  I  know  the  excuse  you  make  to  yourself  is  reverence 
for  the  memory  of  your  mother.  Foolish  child — and  do 
you  imagine  for  an  instant  that  an  angel  in  heaven  is 
moved  by  the  petty  jealousies  which  torment  us  here? 


A   FAMILY  CONSULTATION,  ETC.  93 

or  has  her  nature,  which  was  eminently  unselfish,  so 
changed  in  heaven  as  to  cause  her  a  pang  because  I  can 
be  happy  again,  and  her  poor  little  children  have  />ome 
one  to  take  care  of  and  love  them  ?" 

"  I  could  have  done  it  as  well,  papa." 

He  had  spoken  with  so  much  passion  himself  that  the 
cool  response  which  met  him  added  fuel  to  the  flame,  and 
he  replied,  with  bitterness, — 

"  Your  self-appreciation  must  be  high  indeed,  to  lead 
to  the  expression  of  an  opinion  so  replete  with  vanity 
and  conceit  as  this  last;  but  I  do  not  agree  with  you. 
One  so  utterly  wanting  in  self-discipline  as  yourself  could 
never  be  a  safe  guide  to  any  one.  I  am  thankful  that 
your  sisters  and  brother  are  not  dependent  upon  you.  I 
trust  them  with  perfect  confidence  to  the  mother  who  so 
kindly  consented  to  take  the  charge  of  them." 

"  Yes,  sir," — and  at  last  the  tears  flowed,  and  the  voice 
became  tremulous, — "  and  I  alone  am  left  to  remember  my 
mother;  except  for  me  her  memory  would  die  entirely: 
even  her  own  children  have  forgotten  her." 

"  Foolish  child  !  these  heroics  are  utterly  out  of  place, 
they  exhaust  my  hard-tried  patience.  You  imagine  two 
conflicting  duties,  and  make  yourself  a  martyr  to  an  idea. 
You  feed  your  foolish  heart  in  solitude  until  you  build  up 
a  false  strength  for  resistance  to  the  real  call  of  right  and 
happiness.  But  let  me  tell  you,  Margaret,  if  an  angel  in 
heaven  can  know  unhappiness,  if  our  dead  friends  are 
permitted  to  watch  over  us  from  their  home  in  the  skies, 
your  mother  grieves  over  you  this  day,  and  if  she  could 
speak  to  you  would  advise  you  very  differently  from' your 
present  course." 

If  he  had  only  taken  her  to  his  heart  then,  as  a  mother 
would  have  done  in  like  circumstances,  all  might  have 
been  well ;  for,  for  the  moment,  the  barriers  of  pride  were 


94  THE  HOL COMBES. 

broken  down.  But  he  was  a  man,  and  a  man  too,  deeply 
incensed,  and  did  not  choose  to  open  his  arms  to  her  until 
she  acknowledged  her  wrong.  And  so  the  soft  place  in 
the  strong  young  heart  grew  hard  again  as  she  said, 
coldly, — 

"  Papa,  it  is  useless  for  you  and  me  to  argue  this  point. 
I  am  very  sorry,  but  we  can  never  agree,  and  I  cannot 
command  my  heart  any  more  than  you  can.  I  acknowl- 
edge I  was  wrong  in  what  I  said  this  morning, — consid- 
eration for  myself  and  for  you  will  keep  me  from  offending 
in  that  quarter, — and  I  suppose  you  have  aright  to  direct 
my  actions  in  other  things,  so  I  will  do  what  you  bid  me 
if  it  does  not  come  in  conflict  with  my  truthfulness." 

Mr.  Holcombe  saw  that  he  had  lost  ground,  but  very 
dimly  guessed  how;  she  was  in  some  way  master  of  the 
field,  which  he  could  not  regain,  so  he  had  only  to  make 
the  best  of  what  liberty  she  allowed  him. 

He  said,  "  I  insist,  then,  Margaret,  that  you  no  longer 
absent  yourself  from  the  family,  and  that  your  conduct  to 
me  and — your — my  wife,  be  perfectly  respectful  and  cour- 
teous, if  you  cannot  make  it  affectionate,  and  that  the 
gentleman  whom  I  have  employed  as  your  teacher  shall 
never  have  cause  to  complain  that  you  act  with  regard  to 
him  other  than  a  '  perfect  lady ;'  more  than  this  I  cannot 
ask,  since  it  includes  all  that  a  high-bred  woman  and  a 
Christian  can  do.  I  leave  you,  Margaret,  to  your  own 
conscience  and  your  God.  Your  present  course  is  a  sore 
disappointment  to  me;  I  had  many  hopes  centered  in 
you." 

Again  the  tears  dropped  from  under  the  drooping  lids, 
but  she  made  no  reply. 

With  a  deep  sigh,  Mr.  Holcombe  turned  away.  Was 
there  ever  a  greater  failure  than  he  had  made  ?  Were 
not  matters  even  worse  than  before  ?  Perhaps,  after  all, 


A  FAMILY  CONSULTATION-,  ETC.  95 

Jean  was  right,  and  the  cure  of  the  evil  had  better  have 
been  left  to  time.  Actually  that  calm  manner  of  hers, 
so  unlike  the  impulsive,  passionate  child  she  had  always 
been,  had  left  him  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling  of  being 
himself  in  the  wrong.  It  was  this  feeling  which  impelled 
him  to  turn  back  again  and  say, — 

"Margaret,  of  what  do  you  complain?  what  do  you 
wish  ? — help  me  to  unravel  this  vexed  skein." 

The  answer  might  have  been  frozen  before  it  reached 
him,  it  brought  such  a  chill  with  it. 

"  Thank  you,  papa,  I  shall  do  very  well,  I  expect.  I 
have  nothing  to  ask, — that  time  has  passed." 

And  so  he  went,  disappointed,  grieved,  wondering  what 
had  so  suddenly  developed  this  mere  child  into  a  woman. 

As  the  door  closed,  two  arms  were  reached  forward  for  an 
instant,  as  if  to  stay  him.  But  no  voice  came.  And  throw- 
ing herself  on  the  bed,  Margaret  cried  herself  to  sleep. 

Meantime  Mr.  Holcombe  repaired  to  the  library,  and 
finding  his  wife  alone,  said,  "Jean,  what  is  to  be  done 
with  a  girl  of  fifteen  who,  after  behaving  as  badly  as  a 
child  of  six  could  do,  suddenly,  to  your  surprise,  assumes 
the  bearing  of  an  injured  woman,  and  leaves  you,  in 
spite  of  your  convictions  to  the  contrary,  with  an  uncom- 
fortable feeling  that  you  have  in  some  way  been  to  blame  ?" 

Jean  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  evident  beaten  look 
he  bore,  but  would  not  say,  "  I  told  you  so." 

He  recounted  his  interview  with  Margaret,  and  said, 
"  I  know  I  did  not  manage  it  at  all  well,  but  I  was  so 
angry  at  her  refusal  to  come  to  me  in  the  beginning,  and 
then  her  expression  of  calm  forbearance  threw  me  off  my 
guard,  and  I  let  her  get  the  better  of  me  from  the  first.  I 
declare  it  is  too  provoking  to  think  of  the  martyr  look 
she  assumed  when  she  announced  her  intention  of  obey- 
ing my  '  behests'  as  a  matter  of  duty.  I  certainly  ought 


96  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

to  have  conquered  her  before  I  left,  but  I  did  not,  but  beat 
an  ignominious  retreat,  leaving  her  complete  mistress  of 
the  field.  May  be  you  were  right,  little  woman,  at  last, 
and  I  had  better  have  let  the  matter  alone." 

"Certainly  the  way  it  stands  now  does  not  promise  much 
comfort  for  any  of  the  parties  concerned,"  was  the  quiet 
answer,  "and  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  do  much  to  help  you." 

"  I  believe  now  it  would  be  best  to  send  her  away  to 
school,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe.  But  the  nervous  flush 
which  mounted  to  his  wife's  face  stopped  him ;  and  he 
had  learned  by  this  last  experiment  to  distrust  his  own 
convictions,  and  did  not  insist  upon  his  view  of  the  case. 

Margaret  slept  heavily  until  dinner-time,  and  then  went 
down,  feeling  utterly  stupefied  by  the  exhausted  passion,  in 
the  first  place,  and  then  by  the  long  sleep.  So  the  meal 
passed  without  any  very  decided  exhibition  of  what  her 
own  role  would  embrace ;  at  which  all  parties  were  dis- 
appointed, as  Mr.  Holcombe  had  some  curiosity  to  see 
what  he  was  to  expect.  There  was  rather  an  elaborate 
attention  to  any  expressed  wish  of  his,  but,  except  this, 
there  was  no  indication  of  what  her  proposed  course 
would  be.  Jean  was  beginning  to  watch  the  contest  be- 
tween these  two  with  an  interest  not  unmixed  with 
amusement;  and  she  could  not  but  see  that  this  wrong- 
headed,  spirited  girl  was  more  than  a  match  for  her 
easy-tempered,  indulgent  father,  whose  chivalrous  ideas 
reduced  him  to  tortures  of  self-humiliation  by  having  to 
use  harsh  words  to  a  female,  even  though  she  was  his 
own  child,  and  one  who  sadly  wanted  a  firm  spirit  to 
discipline  hers. 

She  did  not  dare  to  ask  herself  what  was  to  be  the  end  of 
all  this,  but,  Micawber-like,  contented  herself  with  watch- 
ing the  domestic  horizon,  hoping  that  something  would 
turn  up  to  prevent  the  denouement  she  so  much  dreaded. 


CHAPTER    XL 

SCHOOL. 

MR.  WILLIAMS  arrived  the  next  day,  and  was  soon 
installed  in  his  new  duties.  He  was  the  son  of  an  old 
friend  of  the  Holcombes,  and  brought  with  him  the  rec- 
ommendation, which  always  carries  weight  with  a  Vir- 
ginian, that  he  was  born  a  gentleman. 

I  am  aware  that  we  have  been  much  laughed  at  about 
this  idiosyncrasy,  and  admit  that  it  is  often  carried  to  an 
unfortunate  and  ridiculous  extent;  but  I  do  not  think 
that  the  heritage  of  a  good,  great  name  can  be  surpassed. 
And  though  it  may  be  true,  and  doubtless  is,  that  as 
high-minded,  honorable  gentlemen  have  risen  from  the 
lower  ranks  of  life  as  can  be  found  connected  with  any 
of  the  most  highly-esteemed  families  in  the  country,  yet 
it  must  be  that  the  pride  of  birth,  and  a  name  which  can 
be  traced  back  for  generation  upon  generation  without 
its  bearing  the  shadow  of  a  stain  upon  its  fair  escutcheon, 
has  something  ennobling  in  it :  it  must  act  as  a  soul-tonic 
in  the  time  of  sore  temptation. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Mr.  Williams's  birth  carried  a  recom- 
mendation to  Mr.  Holcombe,  and  his  appearance  increased 
the  favorable  consideration.  He  was  a  gentleman  in 
person  and  manners.  He  had  chosen  the  profession  of 
teaching,  as  he  frankly  confessed,  because  the  wheel  of 
fortune  had  gone  round,  and  he  was  not  yet  able  to  get 
his  profession.  In  the  mean  time,  he  was  very  glad  to 
find  himself  so  pleasantly  situated,  and  commenced  his 
duties  with  considerable  zest  in  consequence. 

9  (9T) 


98  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

A  room  in  the  yard  had  been  fitted  up  as  a  schoolroom, 
and  the  Holcombes,  and  one  or  two  children^of  some  poor 
neighbors,  constituted  the  school.  Most  families  have 
their  peculiar  characteristics  ;  and  that  of  the  Holcombes 
seemed  to  be  great  activity  of  mind  and  body.  They 
were  wide-awake  children,  as  Mr.  Williams  found,  much 
to  his  gratification,  and  not  at  all  hard  to  teach,  though 
most  of  them  were  very  backward ;  for,  as  Margaret  ex- 
pressed it,  "  Mrs.  Bascombe  had  untaught  them  for  two 
years." 

Poor  old  lady  !  She  was  much  more  in  her  element 
making  pies  and  cakes  in  the  storeroom  than  teaching 
the  young  ideas  to  shoot  in  the  schoolroom. 

Mrs.  Holcombe  petitioned  that  Lilias  might  be  left 
under  her  care.  And  as  she  was  too  delicate  to  allow 
her  education  a  place  of  first  importance,  it  was  easily 
decided  to  leave  her  to  "mamma"  for  the  present;  and 
she  proved  a  great  source  of  interest  and  entertainment 
to  her.  Often,  too,  she  was  too  unwell  to  do  more  than  lie 
still  in  her  little  crib  and  listen  either  to  reading  or  sing- 
ing,— generally  the  former, — as  her  mind,  more  active 
than  her  body,  drank  in  with  avidity  whatever  food  was 
presented  to  it. 

Her  chair  was  so  arranged  that,  when  she  wished  it, 
a  kind  of  circular  shelf  could  be  fastened  to  the  two  arms, 
and  so  she  could  have  her  playthings  or  work  placed 
within  her  reach ;  and  here  she  would  sit  day  after  day 
with  her  "  family,"  consisting  of  eight  doll-babies  of  vari- 
ous sizes,  for  all  of  whom  she  had  names,  and  of  whom 
she  spoke  as  familiarly  as  if  they  were  real  personages. 
She  had  an  amusing  way  of  making  them  responsible  for 
her  own  misdeeds. 

Jean  bad  left  her  one  day  to  prepare  her  lessons,  and 
returned  to  find  her  absorbed  in  her  work-box,  with  her 


SCHOOL.  99 

books  closed  beside  her;  before  she  could  begin  to  re- 
prove, the  winning  little  face  was  raised  to  hers,  and 
laughing  in  her  most  seductive  way,  she  said, — 

"  Mamma,  Nelly  is  a  very  bad  girl  to-day;  she  will  not 
get  that  Gogafry  lesson,  all  I  can  do.  She  says  she 
would  so  much  rather  sew  ;  and  Betty  has  not  learned 
one  word  of  her  nullification.  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  these  children." 

"  Why,  that  is  a  very  bad  state  of  affairs,  little  mamma," 
was  the  answer;  "but  we  must  never  give  up  to  them, 
must  we  ?  regular  habits  for  little  girls,  you  know." 

"Yes,  that  is  a  fact,  mamma;  but  holiday  once  in 
awhile  does  everybody  good,  and  it  is  a  good  thing  for 
Xelly  to  learn  to  sew,  too ;  suppose  we  indulge  them  for 
this  day, — '  all  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy,' 
you  know." 

"  Yes ;  but  I  remember,  too,  that  '  all  play  and  no  work 
makes  him  a  mere  toy,'  so  we  had  better  put  the  work- 
box  out  of  reach,  so  that  Nelly  and  Betty  won't  be 
tempted  to  forget  duty  for  pleasure." 

This  was  as  much  management  as  the  gentle,  timid, 
little  invalid  ever  required.  So  Jean's  task  was  easy. 

In  the  schoolroom,  Mr.  Williams  soon  found  an  interest 
in  his  bright  pupils.  Margaret  and  George  attracted  him 
particularly,  being  further  advanced,  and  both  ambitious. 
George  was  the  steadiest  worker,  but  Margaret  the 
quickest  mind.  She  was  apt  to  flag  and  become  dis- 
couraged, however,  and  her  teacher  soon  found  the  spur 
which  would  rouse  her,  and  used  it  to  his  own  advantage. 
At  first  she  took  a  great  dislike  to  Latin,  and  positively 
declined  to  prepare  the  lessons.  Mr.  Williams,  to  her 
surprise,  seemed  to  chime  in  with  her  ideas  without  diffi- 
culty. 

"  I  do  not  see  much  use  in  your  studying  it,"  he  said. 


100  THE  UOLCOMBES. 

"  Why  not  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  know  a  woman  does  not  require  the 
intelligence  a  man  does." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  she  said,  indignantly. 

"  Don't  you  ?  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  thought  you 
did." 

"  No,  I  don't ;  I  believe  a  woman  is  just  as  capable  of 
learning  everything  as  a  man  is." 

The  only  answer  was  a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulders 
and  an  incredulous  lifting  of  the  eyebrows,  as  if  polite- 
ness alone  prevented  the  advance  of  strong  arguments  on 
the  other  side. 

"I  wish  you  would  talk,  Mr.  Williams,  and  not  look  in 
that  provoking  way." 

"  Well,  Miss  Holcombe,  a  woman  generally  Gnds  more 
use  for  her  needle  than  her  Latin.  Do  you  know  how 
to  sew  ?" 

"I  don't  see  that  the  two  things  conflict;  and  I  know 
I  can  learn  Latin  as  well  as  George." 

This  was  the  point  he  wished  to  reach,  so  he  dropped 
the  conversation,  and  never  had  any  difficulty  with  Miss 
Holconibe's  Latin  lessons  afterwards. 

Nor  did  she  find  herself  so  out  of  place  under  a  teacher 
as  she  expected ;  it  is  true,  her  lofty  spirit  sometimes 
came  in  contact  with  his,  but  he  always  seemed  to  know 
by  instinct  the  best  way  out  of  the  difficulty  without  any 
departure  from  his  usual  courtesy ;  and  generally  suc- 
ceeded in  managing  her  without  her  finding  it  out. 

The  discipline  was  good  for  her  in  every  way.  And 
she  at  last  fell  into  a  more  natural  manner  in  the  house- 
hold ;  the  winter  evenings  around  the  bright  wood  fires, 
where  George  and  herself  either  worked  out  their  exam- 
ples together,  or  she  played  chess  with  Mr.  Williams, 
were  very  pleasant,  though  there  was  still  a  cloud  be- 


SCHOOL.  101 

tween  herself  and  the  older  members  of  the  family.  Her 
submission  to  her  father's  wishes  were  often  little  less 
than  an  impertinence.  And  if  she  held  any  intercourse 
•  with  Mrs.  Holcombe,  she  was  sure  to  leave  a  sting  behind 
her;  but  in  spite  of  all  this,  everything  went  on  much 
better  than  could  have  been  expected  ;  and  spring  opened 
upon  the  family  of  Rose  Hill  more  peacefully  than  the 
stormy  winter  promised. 

Mary  and  John  labored  up  the  ladder  of  learning  in 
company  with  Harry  Holcombe, — finding  it  rather  stupid 
work, — and  John  felt  inclined  to  change  his  amo,  arnas, 
amat,  into  odior,  oderis,  odetur. 

One  of  Mr.  Williams's  accomplishments  was  reading, 
which  he  did  with  rare  expression  and  beauty;  and  the 
long  evenings  were  enlivened  by  the  congenial  company 
of  Dickens,  Shakspeare,  and  many  lesser  lights.  So  that 
Jean  Holcombe  always  looked  back  upon  this  first  winter 
of  her  married  life  as  the  happiest,  though  as  we  have 
seen  it  was  not  free  from  care. 

Hunting  was  a  famous  amusement  with  the  boys  at 
Rose  Hill,  and  often  Mr.  Williams  would  accompany 
them.  Sometimes,  too,  they  would  go  off  swimming. 
Every  holiday  was  spent  in  this  way,  and  Mr.  Williams 
gained  their  love  and  confidence  by  always  making  one 
of  the  party,  and  enjoyed  the  expeditions  as  much  as  they 
did. 

"'Mr.  Holcombe,"  said  Jean,  one  day,  "it  always 
frightens  me  so  to  see  the  boys  going  off  with  their  guns, 
or  to  go  to  the  water,  they  are  so  rash.  Suppose  some  of 
them  should  get  hurt." 

"  Well,  Jean,"  he  said,  "  these  are  risks  boys  must  run. 
They  have  to  learn  to  take  care  of  themselves  and  other 
people  too  ;  it  would  never  do  to  keep  them  out  of  danger 
all  the  time,  it  would  make  perfect  milksops  of  them,  and 

9* 


102  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

the  time  may  come  when  they  will  need  all  the  hardi- 
hood and  nerve  their  present  lives  can  give." 

"  Yes,  I  know  all  that,  but  I  am  never  easy  when  I 
see  them  go  off  on  these  expeditions.  I  always  expect 
to  see  one  of  them  brought  home  by  the  others.  I  thiuk 
it  would  be  better  if  they  would  learn  to  swim  first." 

"  Learn  to  swirn  first  1"  exclaimed  Mr.  Holcombc, 
laughing, — "in  a  wash-tub,  I  suppose.  You  women  are 
all  alike  ;  I  never  saw  one  of  you  that  did  not  make  some 
such  mistake  as  that.  My  mother,  who  was  as  strong- 
minded  a  woman  as  ever  lived,  told  us  one  day  that  she 
positively  forbade  our  going  into  the  water  at  all  until 
we  learned  to  swim,  and  it  was  not  until  we  laughed  that 
the  absurdity  of  the  proposition  struck  her." 

Jean  joined  in  the  laugh  against  herself,  and  said, — 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  be  in  such  good  company  as  your 
mother,  at  any  rate.  You  are  sure  not  to  think  anything 
she  does  very  foolish." 

"  But  there,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe,  looking  towards  the 
woods,  "  I  think  I  hear  their  voices  now." 

It  was  a  habit  of  the  boys,  whenever  they  left  home 
for  the  day,  to  stop  at  a  large  tree  at  the  end  of  the  lawn, 
which  they  called  their  sunset  tree,  because  from  there 
the  view  of  the  sunset  was  always  most  beautiful,  and 
here  they  sang  their  sunset  song.  It  was  a  custom  they 
had  taken  from  their  fathers,  who  had  told  them  of  how 
they  used  to  go  down  to  this  spot  for  the  same  purpose. 

The  hunting  or  swimming  was  always  hurried  over 
then,  in  order  not  to  lose  their  meeting  at  their  sunset 
tree,  and  their  arrival  was  heralded  to  their  friends  at  the 
house  by  their  voices  singing  their  evening  song,  which 
had  been  written  by  their  grandfather  so  many  years 
ago. 

AS  Mr.  Holcombe  spoke,  the  clear  voices  rang  through 


SCHOOL.  103 

the  evening  air.     And  both  Jean  and  himself  went  out 
into  the  porch  so  as  to  hear  them  more  distinctly. 

Their  voices  blended  beautifully,  and  they  could  dis- 
tinguish Mr.- Williams's  deep  notes,  mingled  with  the 
more  childish  tones  of  the  boys,  and  even  at  the  distance 
at  which  they  were  the  words  were  easily  distinguished. 

THE  SCHOOLBOYS'  EVENING-  SONG. 

"  Come,  come,  coine,  come  to  the  sunset  tree, 

The  day  is  past  and  gone, 
The  schoolboy  now  is  free, 

And  his  daily  tasks  are  done. 
The  twilight  star  to  heaven, 

The  summer  dew  to  flowers, 
And  a  holiday  is  given 

To  us  by  the  evening  hours. 

"  Sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  sweet  is  the  hour  of  play 

To  the  boy  let  loose  from  school, 
After  delving  all  the  day 

At  some  puzzling  grammar  rule. 
Oh,  then,  how  sweet  to  all 

Are  the  triumphs  of  the  race, 
And  the  merry  game  at  ball, 

And  the  turf  our  resting-place  ! 

Then  come,  come,  come. 

"  Light,  light,  light,  light  are  our  spirits  now, 

While  bounding  o'er  the  green, 
And  our  friends  assembled  near 

Enjoy  the  lively  scene. 
And  when  our  games  are  o'er, 

And  the  hour  is  past  for  play, 
Then,  sitting  at  the  door, 

We'll  sing  our  roundelay. 

Then  come,  come,  como." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

GEORGE    WASHINGTON   REVIVED. 

"  PAPA,"  said  John,  running  into  the  library  one  morn- 
ing in  early  spring,  where  Mr.  Holcombe  was  lying  at 
ease  on  the  lounge  with  a  book  in  hand  reading  aloud  to 
his  wife,  who  sat  at  her  work  by  his  side,  "  do  you  re- 
member the  young  pear-tree  you  set  out  last  spring  ?" 

"  What,  the  one  at  the  end  of  the  walk  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Of  course  I  do;  what  of  it?  I  saw  it  yesterday; 
those  grafts  are  doing  remarkably  well." 

"Well,  papa,"  —  John  had  commenced  his  interview 
with  a  very  beaming  face,  but  this  had  given  place  to  an 
expression  of  doubt  and  uncertainty,  which  induced  Mr. 
Holcombe  to  lay  down  the  book  he  was  reading  and  to 
repeat  with  an  increased  appearance  of  interest : 

"  Well,  what  of  it,  my  son  ?'' 

"  Papa,  I — I — somebody  has  cut  it  down." 

'•  Somebody  has  cut  down  my  young  seckel  pear-tree  !" 
ejaculated  Mr.  Holcombe,  in  astonishment,  getting  up 
from  the  lounge  and  standing  before  the  child.  "  What 
do  you  mean,  John  ?" 

The  tears  began  to  roll  over  Master  John's  cheeks  ; 
but  he  made  no  answer. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  knew.  I 
must  get  at  the  bottom  of  the  mystery.  What  do  you 
know  about  this,  John  ?  That  you  are  in  some  way  con- 
cerned in  it  I  see,  of  course ;  but  how  I  cannot  imagine. 
Do  you  know  who  did  it?" 
(104) 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON  REVIVED.  105 

"  Yes,  sir,"  sobbed  John. 

"  Well,  tell  me.  Of  course  I  shall  be  very  angry;  but 
you  need  not  be  so  much  frightened.  I  am  no  ogre." 

"  Papa,  I  did  it." 

"  You  cut  down  my  pear-tree  I"  said  Mr.  Holcombe,  in 
profound  astonishment.  "  In  the  name  of  all  that  is  rea- 
sonable what  could  have  induced  you  to  do  such  a  thing?" 

"  You  told  me " 

"  I  told  you," — and  Mr.  Holcombe  drew  a  long  breath 
expressive  of  suppressed  impatience, — "  I  told  you  to  cut 
down  my  pear-tree  !  Well,  either  you  or  I  have  lost 
our  senses.  For  goodness'  sake,  stop  that  crying,  you 
great  baby,  you,  and  tell  me  what  you  mean  !" 

"  Stop  a  minute,  Mr.  Holcombe,  you  frighten  the  child," 
whispered  Jean.  "  Come  here,  Johnny ;  tell  us  all  about 
it  now, — I  know  you  have  not  meant  to  do  wrong." 

Her  gentleness  calmed  the  sobs  in  a  minute,  though  it 
was  still  with  considerable  difficulty  that  he  managed  to 
say,— 

"You  know  you  told  me  I  must  always  tell  the 
truth." 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  said  Jean,  holding  his  face  towards 
her  so  as  to  keep  from  him  the  view  of  Mr.  Holcombe's 
impatient  movements  as  he  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  strode  up  and  down  the  room. 

"And  papa  said  that — it  was  when  he  was  talking 
to  us  about  Uncle  Randolph's  Christmas  toast,  about  the 
great  men  of  Virginia ;  and  he  said  we  must  try  and  be 
like  them." 

A  smothered  ejaculation  from  Mr.  Holcombe,  "  Heaven 
grant  me  patience  !  But  what  have  the  great  men  of  Vir- 
ginia to  do  with  my  pear-tree  ?"  was  very  near  upsetting 
John  again;  but  a  few  more  words  of  encouragement, 
and  he  said, — 


106  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"And  I  was  trying — but  George  "Washington's  father 
said  he  was  willing  to  lose  the  cherry-tree  because  he  told 
the  truth  !" 

This  was  too  much,  and  Jean  put  her  hands  over  her 
face  and  shook  with  laughter.  Mr.  Holcombe  had  not 
caught  the  low-voiced  explanation,  and  looked  from  one 
to  the  other  with  amazement. 

"  There,  go  out,  John,"  said  Jean,  wiping  the  tears 
from  her  eyes,  "  I  will  explain  to  papa ;  it  is  all  right." 

And,  as  the  door  closed  upon  him,  she  gave  full  vent 
to  her  amusement,  in  which  Mr.  Holcombe  joined  most 
heartily  when  he  understood  that  George  Washington 
and  his  successful  raid  upon  his  father's  cherry-tree  had 
been  John's  guiding  star.  "But  how  I  must  have  disap- 
pointed him  !"  said  he,  at  last.  "  Instead  of  acting  the 
proper  and  moral  papa,  like  old  Mr.  Washington,  of  whom, 
by-the-by,  they  make  a  perfect  old  prig,  I  almost  fright- 
ened the  life  out  of  him.  Well,  I  would  willingly  lose 
the  pear-tree  for  the  sake  of  the  good  joke ;  it  will  last 
John  for  a  lifetime.  I  must  write  to  George  about  it. 
I  wish  I  could  tell  him  and  hear  him  laugh." 

"But  do  pray  go  after  John  now  and  comfort  him," 
said  Jetm.  "  But,  Mr.  Holcombe,"  as  he  was  leaving  the 
room,  "  I — of  course  you  know  more  about  the  children 
than  I  do ;  but,  if  you  would  only  not  go  too  far  in  the 
opposite  direction,  explain  to  him  about  things,  don't  let 
him  think  you  esteem  it  a  privilege  to  lose  your  tree." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe,  "  I  am  going  to  act  old 
Mr.  Washington  to  perfection.  '  Poor  Johnny,'  I  am 

going  to  say,  '  my  son,  I  would  rather  have  lost' But 

I  am  afraid  I  cannot  be  as  effective  wnthout  the  big  white 
cravat  and  shorts." 

"  Pshaw,  Mr.  Holcombe  !  Don't  do  so.  I  really  think 
it  is  right  serious;  you  may  do  the  child  an  injury,"  said 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON  REVIVED.  107 

Jean.  "  I  never  saw  such  people  as  you  are.  I  believe  a 
good  joke  would  reconcile  you  to  anything,  and  you  fly 
from  one  extreme  to  the  other." 

"Yes,  that  is  a  fact,  Mrs.  Jean;  but  I  am  going  to 
make  it  all  right  now. .  I'll  take  his  knife  away  from  him 
as  a  punishment,  and  tell  him.  that  I  know  he  did  it  for 
the  best,  but  I  hope  he  won't  do  it  again."  And  he  left 
the  room  laughing,  leaving  her  still  with  a  slight  feeling 
of  uneasiness,  and  not  a  little  wonder  how  he  ever  man- 
aged to  bring  his  children  up  as  well  as  he  had  done. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is  men  are  not  fond  of  that  kind 
of  business,  and  if  they  can  find  any  excuse  for  shuffling 
off  the  trouble  and  responsibility,  they  are  very  apt  to 
do  it. 

John  appeared  at  dinner  in  a  very  composed  state  of 
mind  ;  peace  was  evidently  made,  and  without  the  loss 
of  the  knife,  as  Jean  observed,  and  privately  determined 
to  impress  the  lesson  on  the  young  man  herself. 

But  John  did  not  escape  so  easily  as  she  thought.  The 
two  boys,  George  and  Harry,  got  hold  of  the  story,  and 
called  him  George  Washington  ever  afterwards. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

HARVEST. 

"  JEAN,  you  know  next  week  my  wheat  will  be  ready 
to  cut,  and  you  will  have  any  quantity  to  do  for  harvest." 

Jean  laid  down  her  work,  and  looked  up  at  her  husband 
in  surprise.  She  had  never  thought  of  her  having  any 
duties  to  perform  at  harvest. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  laughing  at  her  bewilderment.  "  I 
expect  you  to  go  out  in  the  field  and  help  to  bind  up. 
You  will  make  a  splendid  Ruth." 

"  Of  course,  I  know  you  arc  laughing  now,"  she  said ; 
"  but  what  is  to  be  done,  really  ?" 

"  Why,  you  have  to  prepare  the  greatest  quantity  of 
pies,  and  cakes  too,  I  expect.  The  hands  all  must  be  fed 
up  during  harvest." 

"  You  don't  make  the  women  go  in  these  hot  suns,  do 
you  ?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  Jean,  I  give  you  leave  to  keep  them  at  home, 
if  they  want  to  stay.  I  assure  you,  harvest  is  a  perfect 
jubilee.  I  have  to  make  the  women  take  turns  to  stay 
in  and  cook.  Even  the  children  are  crazy  to  go." 

"Well,  I  should  think  it  would  kill  them  to  be  out  in 
the  broiling  sun  all  day." 

"  It  is  hardly  fair  to  judge  them  by  yourself,  Jean.  In 
the  first  place,  a  negro  from  his  nature  can  stand  more 
heat  than  ten  white  people.  I  assure  you,  I  have  seen 
Rachel  wrap  herself  up  in  a  double  blanket,  and  lie 
down  in  front  of  a  fire  which  would  roast  an  ox,  and 
sleep  like  an  infant  cradled  on  its  mother's  breast.  And 
(108) 


HARVEST.  109 

then  they,  of  course,  from  their  position  and  lives,  are 
inured  to  hardships, — it  is  obliged  to  be  so.  I  could  not 
keep  them  all  like  ladies  and  gentlemen ;  and  what  you 
consider  a  hardship  they  look  upon  as  the  greatest 
pleasure." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  them  at  work,"  said  Jean.  "  Would 
that  be  possible  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  when  they  get  to  the  fields  near  the  house, 
you  can  go  out ;  or  you  can  ride  out  with  me  any  time. 
You  will  be  very  much  interested, — it  is  a  pretty  sight. 
How  many  of  the  women  about  the  house  can  you 
spare?" 

"  Will  they  want  to  go,  too  ?  I  never  thought  of  that," 
she  said. 

"Of  course,  they  will  all  want  to  go;  but  that  don't 
make  any  difference.  You  will  have  to  keep  enough  to 
do  the  work ;  but  I  suppose  you  can  spare  one  or  two. 
The  fact  is,  the  wheat  is  very  ripe,  and  I  am  anxious  to 
have  as  many  hands  as  possible,  so  as  to  get  through 
soon,  while  the -fine  weather  lasts." 

Jean  thought  that  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  house- 
servants  could  be  spared ;  but  she  found  that  was  out  of 
the  question.  Nanny  must  stay  with  Lilias,  and  two 
other  maids ;  and  Robin,  of  course,  would  have  to  stay 
in  the  dining-room,  since  Mr.  Holconibe  could  not  stand 
a  woman  round  the  table. 

The  weighty  matter  was  at  last  settled,  and  harvest 
commenced. 

It  is  a  trying  time  to  all  housekeepers, — though  less  so, 
probably,  in  an  old  Virginia  household, — where  there  are 
so  many  supernumeraries  in  the  way  of  servants.  But 
even  Jean  felt  the  inconvenience.  The  carriage  could 
not  be  gotten  out,  because  the  driver  was  in  the  field ; 
the  dinner  in  the  house  was  delayed,  because  the  hands 

10 


110  THE  IIOL  COMBES. 

must  be  provided  first;  the  weeds  were  permitted  to 
show  themselves  in  the  beautiful  garden,  because  Sandy 
was  harvesting.  And  thus,  in  many  little  ways,  she  was 
constantly  reminded  that  harvest  was  progressing ;  and 
often,  too,  she  would  hear  the  voices  in  the  distance  sing- 
ing their  harvest  songs  to  the  music  of  the  swift-moving 
cradles.  They  had  commenced  at  the  farthest  extremity 
of  the  farm,  and  worked  in  towards  the  house ;  so  that 
it  was  not  until  the  end  of  the  week  that  Mr.  Holcombe 
announced  that  they  were  near  enough  for  the  ladies  to 
visit  them.  Jean  preferred  to  walk,  as  she  was  too  timid 
about  riding  to  venture.  So,  in  company  with  the  whole 
family,  she  started  out  one  bright  afternoon,  about  an 
hour  before  sunset.  The  voices  of  the  singers  grew 
louder  and  harsher  on  the  ear  as  they  progressed,  and 
presently  they  came  in  full  view  of  the  whole  party. 
Certainly  it  was  a  beautiful  sight.  There  were  about 
thirty  hands  altogether,  of  all  ages  and  sizes.  The  men 
displaying  the  bone  and  sinew  of  their  muscular  forms  to 
the  greatest  advantage  in  the  movement  of  the  cradle, 
while  the  women  in  their  blue  cotton  dresses,  with 
uncouth-looking  head-dresses  surmounting  their  craniums, 
formed  picturesque  additions  to  the  scene.  Each  cradler 
had  two  binders;  and  the  rapidity  of  their  movements 
Jean  thought  wonderful.  The  golden  grain  was  swept- 
by  the  unerring  scythe  ;  the  wide  sweep  of  the  arm  baring 
an  incredible  space  at  each  throw,  so  that  the  beauti- 
ful field,  which,  at  their  coming,  had  nodded  a  welcome 
with  its  million  of  heads,  soon  showed  for  a  great  dis- 
tance before  them  nothing  but  the  short  stubble,  forming 
a  groundwork  for  the  richly-piled  sheaves  which  dotted 
it  from  one  end  to  the  other. 

"Look,  mamma,  here  comes  Aunt  Ailsie  to  speak  to 
you,"  said  Mary,  as  a  queer-looking  old  figure  appeared 


HARVEST.  11 J 

in  a  short  cotton  dress,  which  displayed  to  disadvan- 
tage the  coarse  shoes  and  not  too  neat-looking1  hose, 
while  the  hood  of  faded  gingham,  which  sheltered  her 
from  the  beams  of  the  sun,  failed  to  improve  the  negro 
features  of  the  withered  old  face. 

"Why,  Aunt  Ailsie,  are  you  here,  too?"  said  Jean,  in 
surprise.  "  I  thought  you  were  too  old  for  the  harvest- 
field  !" 

"  No,  mistis,  thank  the  Lord !  I  is  been  in  the  harvis- 
field  all  my  life,  and  I  hopes  to  die  in  it  while  the  Lord 
spares  me." 

"  Well,  how  do  you  stand  it,  old  woman  ?  Ain't  you 
tired  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  mistis,  but  I'm  still  spyarin',  —  tumblin' 
over  the  clods — on  pleadin'  groun', — thank  the  Lord!" 
This  medley  of  congratulations  was  almost  too  much  for 
Jean's  gravity,  and  the  boys  laughed  outright. 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  fine  crop  this  year,"  said  Jean, 
for  want  of  a  better  remark. 

"Yes,  mistis,  He  dun  sont  a  'bundant  harvis  to  'rich 
He  land.  Thank  Him  for  it !" 

But  the  conversation  was  brought  to  a  sudden  stop  by 
the  old  woman's  catching  sight  of  several  woolly-headed 
urchins  making  a  raid  upon  her  tin  bucket  of  provisions, 
which  she  had  hidden  under  a  sheaf  of  wheat ;  and  she 
made  a  dash  at  the  depredators,  leaving  the  "white 
people"  to  laugh  at  their  leisure. 

Mr.  Holcombe  now  rode  up  for  a  moment  to  speak  to 
them ;  and  when  Jean  told  him  of  their  interview  with 
Ailsie,  he  said,  laughing, — 

"  Unfortunately,  Jean,  those  pious-talking  ones  are  not 
always  the  best;  they  take  it  out  in  talking.  When  I 
hear  one  of  my  negroes  descanting  eloquently  on  the 
subject  of  his  religious  experience,  I  always  keep  my  eyes 


112  THE  nOLCOMBES. 

about  me.  There  used  to  be  an  old  woman  named 
Hetty,  and  my  mother  always  said,  when  she  would 
bring  the  yarn  in,  which  she  had  been  spinning,  to  have 
it  weighed,  she  always  knew,  if  Hetty's  mood  was  par- 
ticularly pious,  that  the  yarn  was  a  hank  short." 

But  as  the  sun  was  looking  his  last  just  before  bidding 
the  world  good-night,  the  whole  party  turned  their  faces 
homewards.  As  they  made  their  way  through  the  woods 
which  lay  between  them  and  the  house,  Margaret  and 
Mary,  accompanied  by  the  three  boys,  made  the  grove 
vocal  with  their  imitations  of  the  music  of  the  reapers : 

"Where  now  are  good  Brother  Danel  ? 
Way  over  in  de  Promis'  Lan'. 

"He  got  cotch  in  de  den  of  lions, 
Way  over  in  de  Promis'  Lan'. 

"Where  now  is  Medrach  and  Bednigo? 
Way  over  in  de  Promis'  Lan'. 

"  They  went  fru  de  fiery  furnace, 
Way  over  in  de  Promis'  Lan'." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Williams,  "that  one  of  the 
shining  lights  is  neglected  in  that  memorial. " 

'  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Williams,"  said  George,  "  they  make  a 
cunning  combination  of  Shadrach  and  Meshach,  making 
it  Medrach ;  their  metre  would  not  allow  a  further  con- 
cession to  history." 

"Oh,  mamma,"  said  Mary,  "look  at  Aunt  Milly! 
Don't  she  look  handsome?" 

She  certainly  looked  picturesque  as  she  stood  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  her  tall  figure  clearly  defined  against 
the  sky,  and  her  voice  coming  to  them  mellowed  by  dis- 
tance, crying,  "Come,  come,  come." 

"  She  is  calling  the  cows,"  said  John  ;  and  there,  way 
off  across  the  meadow,  they  came  at  her  bidding,  one 
after  another,  making  a  pretty  feature  in  the  landscape  as 


HARVEST.  113 

their  graceful  forms  blended  with  the  softened  hues  of 
twilight. 

It  was  decided  to  go  home  by  the  "  cuppin," — a  "  nick- 
name," John  said,  "  for  cow-pen."  So  they  turned  off 
into  the  green  meadow^  and  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill 
just  as  the  three  milkmaids  were  emptying  their  first 
buckets  of  the  foaming  white  fluid  into  the  large  tubs. 

The  cows  stood  patiently  within  an  inclosure  made  of 
rails,  while  the  calves  ma-a-ed  discontentedly  on  the  out- 
side,— a  useless  expenditure  of  eloquence  on  the  subject 
of  their  defrauded  rights,  which  their  master,  man,  failed 
to  recognize. 

The  scene  was  as  new  to  Jean  as  the  harvest-field  had 
been,  and  she  was  very  much  amused  to  hear  the  milk- 
maids talking  to  the  animals,  as  if  they  really  understood 
them. 

"You  Bet!  stan'  roun'  here!  Don't  you  hear  me? 
I  ain't  goin'  to  take  none  of  your  ars !" 

"  I  see  you,  old  Wbitey  !  You  is  jest  gittin'  ready  to 
kick  dis  here  bucket  over,  en  as  sho  as  you  dus,  you  will 
git  it,  now  min',  I  tell  you." 

At  last,  much  to  their  gratification,  the  work  of  spoil- 
ing was  over,  and  the  calves  were  let  in  to  their  mothers, 
to  take  the  remnant  of  the  feast,  which,  after  the  long 
waiting,  was  most  joyfully  received. 

"  What  are  they  going  to  do  now  ?"  said  Jean,  as  she 
saw  the  women  lifting  up  the  tubs.  "  Surely  they  never 
can  carry  those  things  on  their  heads ;"  but  she  found 
her  mistake  as,  rising  up  under  their  burdens,  and 
placing  one  hand  on  the  hip,  while  in  the  other  they  car- 
ried a  full  bucket,  off  they  went,  singing  at  the  top  of 
their  voices,  the  tubs  poised  gracefully,  and  the  burden- 
bearers  looking  as  much  at  ease  as  if  they  carried  no 
weight  at  all. 

10* 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE   PICNIC. 

THE  regular  vacation  at  Rose  Hill  was  arranged  for 
the  winter,  though,  during  the  hottest  part  of  the  sum- 
mer, extempore  holidays  were  allowed  in  order  to  recruit 
the  exhausted  energies  of  teacher  and  pupils. 

One  was  proposed  soon  after  harvest,  as  Mr.  Williams 
had  not  been  very  well,  and  required  a  relaxation. 

"  Suppose  we  make  up  an  expedition  to  Hawk's  Nest," 
Margaret  proposed ;  "  Mr.  Williams  has  never  been  there, 
and  we  can  all  go  and  see  the  sunset, — it  is  worth  a  ride 
of  twenty  miles." 

The  proposition  was  unanimously  carried,  and  taken 
to  the  Upper  House ;  which,  instead  of  vetoing  it, 
further  suggested  that  sunrise  was  as  well  worth  seeing 
as  sunset,  and  that  they  had  better  get  up  a  picnic  party 
which  would  last  two  days. 

Now  Mr.  Holcombe  had  a  farm  just  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  and  it  was  at  this  time  without  a  tenant, — what 
if  they  took  possession  of  the  house  for  a  few  days  for 
the  variety  of  the  thing  1 

This  plan  was  of  course  delightful,  though  Jean  de- 
clared herself  unable  to  go,  as  Lilias,  who  had  suffered 
much  from  the  warm  weather,  was  more  unwell  than 
usual,  and  could  not  of  course  leave  the  comforts  of  home. 
Mr.  Holcombe  immediately  announced  his  intention  of 
remaining  also,  though  with  characteristic  determination 
not  to  acknowledge  danger  of  trouble,  he  said  he  knew 


THE  PICNIC.  H5 

there  was  nothing'  the  matter  with  Lily  more  than  she 
suffered  from  every  summer. 

Mrs.  Bascombe,  with  Rachel  and  Ned  as  assistants, 
were  dispatched  on  Wednesday  with  everything  neces- 
sary for  the  comfort  of  the  party,  though  one  of  the  great 
enjoyments  was  to  consist  in  the  absence  of  the  luxuries 
of  home. 

Thursday  proved  as  bright  a  day  as  any  one  could 
wish,  and  a  trip  to  Europe  could  scarce  have  claimed 
more  abundant  preparations  :  there  was  an  extensive  sup- 
ply of  worsted-work,  etc.  for  the  girls,  and  guns  and  fish- 
ing-tackle for  the  boys ;  books  enough  for  a  party  twice 
the  size  of  theirs,  to  last  them  twice  as  long ;  besides 
chessmen,  backgammon,  and  every  variety  of  game.  It 
was  determined  to  stay  until  Saturday  evening. 

Uncle  Bob  made  his  appearance  with  his  inevitable 
cart,  which  presented  a  strange  medley  when  it  was  all 
packed  to  start. 

"Who  dares  to  take  a  slate?"  said  Harry  Holcombe, 
holding  up  one  to  public  scorn,  which  he  had  just  fer- 
reted out  from  the  loose  baggage.  "  I  don't  care  whose 
it  is,  it  ain't  fair  to  take  anything  belonging  to  school." 

"  It  is  mine,  Harry  ;  give  it  to  me,"  said  Mary. 

"  And  what  upon  the  earth  do  you  want  with  it  ?  you 
are  not  generally  such  an  enthusiastic  mathematician." 

'•'I  wanted,"  said  Mary,  blushing,  "to  learn  to  draw, 
and  thought  I  would  begin  on  a  slate." 

The  laugh  was  too  general  for  Mary's  comfort,  at  the 
idea  of  drawing  from  nature  on  a  slate. 

"Never  mind  how  much  they  laugh,  Mary,"  said  Mr. 
Williams,  "it  shows  their  ignorance.  I  could  tell  them 
of  a  celebrated  sculptor  whose  talent  was  discovered  by 
a  figure  he  drew  on  the  top  of  a  firkin  of  lard  ;  but  it  is 
just  as  well  for  you  to  leave  the  slate  at  home,  as  Harry's 


116  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

feelings  are  so  sensitive.  I  have  everything1  you  will 
want  in  ray  portfolio,  and  I  may  be  able  to  help  you  too." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  thank  you  !"  was  the  eager  response, 
as  Snowflake  (so  she  had  named  her  pony)  was  brought 
to  the  door,  and  her  father  came  forward  to  help  her  up. 

"  Why,  you  are  not  more  than  a  snowflake  yourself," 
he  said,  as  she  sprang  into  her  seat  with  scarce  any  help 
from  him.  "If  you  don't  take  care  of  this  young  lady, 
Mr.  Williams,  she  will  go  up  on  the  wings  of  the  first 
wind  which  comes  along  higher  than  the  old  woman  who 
was  tossed  up  in  a  blanket." 

Margie  was  already  mounted  on  Brown  Bess,  and 
never  showed  to  such  advantage  as  in  her  present  posi- 
tion, with  her  lithe,  young  figure  set  off  by  the  tight- 
fitting  riding-dress  of  some  black  material,  and  the  broad- 
brimmed  hat  tied  down  under  the  chin.  She  was  perfect 
mistress  of  her  horse,  and  as  she  patted  the  arched  neck, 
the  pleased  movement  of  its  pretty  head  showed  the 
touch  to  be  a  familiar  one. 

Mr.  Williams  bestrode  black  Festus, — Mr.  Holcombe's 
fine  Arabian, — and  the  boys  were  mounted  on  the  refuse 
of  the  stable.  George  having  chosen  a  scrubby,  rusty- 
looking  mule,  whose  antics  caused  no  little  amusement  to 
the  party,  and  Harry  and  John  mounted  on  one  horse,  and 
were  to  take  turns  in  holding  the  reins. 

"  Good-by  !"  "good-by!"  resounded  from  all  sides. 

"  A  good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish !"  called  out  Mr. 
Holcombe  as  they  rode  off. 

"Good-by,  Uncle  Ned,"  said  George.  "Bucephalus 
presents  his  compliments."  And  he  touched  his  steed  be- 
hind, which  sent  his  heels  high  in  the  air,  by  way  of  a 
farewell  greeting. 

Mr.  Holcombe  and  Jean  stood  watching  the  happy 
party  as  they  rode  into  the  grove. 


THE  PICNIC.  117 

"  They  are  certainly  a  merry  set,"  said  he.  "I  won- 
der if  time  is  going  to  let  them  stay  so  all  their  lives.  It 
seems  right  hard  to  think  of  their  growing  old  and  dying 
careworn." 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  if  life  was  everything ;  but " 

"Ah,  well,  don't  let  us  get  on  such  doleful  subjects. 
I  am  never  going  to  look  forward.  I  believe  we  will  all 
do  as  they  do  in  the  story-books, — live  in  peace,  and 
die  in  a  pot  of  grease." 

A  ride  of  three  or  four  miles  brought  the  picnickers  to 
the  little  white  cottage,  built  almost  under  the  mountain, 
and  there  stood  Mrs.  Bascombe  in  the  door  to  welcome 
them. 

There  was  a  long  porch  in  the  front  of  the  house,  from 
which  you  entered  two  rooms :  one,  the  kitchen,  where 
Mrs.  Bascombe,  with  Rachel  to  help  her,  superintended 
ovens  of  various  sizes,  with  glowing  coals  on  the  top  and 
underneath,  before  a  fire  of  huge  logs,  such  primitive 
modes  of  cooking  being  necessary  owing  to  the  transient 
nature  of  the  settlement;  the  other  room  (the  largest 
of  the  two)  served  as  dining-room,  parlor,  etc.  It  now 
presented  a  very  seductive  appearance  to  the  hungry 
equestrians,  in  spite  of  its  lack  of  furniture,  for  in  the 
center  of  the  room  was  spread  the  supper-table,  made 
attractive  by  the  beautiful  white  cloth,  blue  India  china, 
and  highly-polished  silver,  whilst  in  the  center,  the 
tempting  pat  of  yellow  butter,  with  its  crystal  lump  of 
ice  on  the  top,  gave  a  promise  of  good  cheer  at  the  even 
ing  meal. 

A  flight  of  stairs  landed  in  the  room,  and  Mary  at 
once  proposed  to  Margaret  an  inspection  of  the  entire 
establishment.  So  the  two  lady  hostesses  disappeared ; 
their  merry  laughter  soon  drew  the  rest  of  the  party 
after  them,  and  they  found  the  upper  floor  to  consist  of 


118  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

four  tiny  bedrooms,  with  beds  spread  on  the  floor,  and 
boxes  fixed  in  the  corners,  covered  with  white  draperies, 
to  answer  the  purpose  of  wasbstands  and  dressing-tables. 

"  I  speak  for  this  room,"  said  Harry,  rolling  himself 
over  the  bed  in  the  largest  room.  "  The  rest  of  you  have 
my  permission  to  do  as  you  please." 

"  Y*ou  have  fairly  Won  it,  Harry,"  said  Margaret,  "  as 
no  one  wants  it  after  you  have  rolled  over  it.  But 
don't  flatter  yourself  that  you  are  to  have  it  alone. 
George  and  John  occupy  it  with  you.  This  one  is  Mrs. 
Bascombe's,  that  Mr.  Williams's,  and  Mary  and  myself 
will  take  this,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs." 

"  Good  gracious,  Margie !"  said  John,  "  sleep  in  the 
bed  with  those  two  boys  !  Why,  Harry  kicks,  and  George 
has  an  uncomfortable  way  of  throwing  his  arms  about." 

"And  I  think,"  said  George,  in  comic  dismay,  "that 
I  shall  forsake  the  populous  assembly  and  repose  on  the 
porch." 

"  Do,"  responded  Harry ;  "  and  if  you  are  cold,  just 
shut  the  front  gate." 

Mr.  Williams  settled  matters  by  offering  disconsolate 
John  an  asylum  in  his  room. 

Just  then  the  odor  of  steaming  coffee  reached  them, 
and  they  descended  the  stairs  to  find  the  dainty  meal 
prepared  for  them,  and  Mrs.  Bascombe  was  duly  compli- 
mented on  the  masterly  manner  in  which  she  had  met 
the  emergency. 

Mary  declared  the  bread  and  butter  to  be  the  best  she 
bad  ever  tasted,  and  the  "broiled  chickens  met  with  uni- 
versal approbation. 

The  evening  proved  too  warm  to  stay  in-doors,  so  the 
whole  party  adjourned  to  the  green  outside  the  house, 
and  lounged  contentedly  on  the  grass,  whilst  the  moon 
beamed  upon  them  complacently. 


THE  PICNIC.  119 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  beautiful  as  this  moon  ?" 
said  Mary. 

"  That  shows  the  greatest  ingratitude  for  past  favors, 
Mary,"  said  George.  "It  is  just  as  bright  every  full 
moon  as  it  is  now.  It  seerns  a  pity  to  me  that  we  always 
have  to  be  denied  something.  The  moon,  for  instance,  is 
such  a  jealous  jade  she  will  not  countenance  a  rival, — she 
puts  out  the  stars  every  time  she  shows  her  face.  It 
would  be  so  much  prettier  if  we  could  have  all  together." 

"  They  did  at  the  siege  of  Corinth,"  said  Margaret;  "at 
least  Byron  says  so.  By-the-by,  Mr.  Williams,  is  not  that 
passage  open  to  criticism  ?" 

"What  is  it?" 

Margaret  repeated  : 

"'Tis  midnight  on  the  mountains  brown; 
The  cold  round  moon  shines  deeply  down ; 
Blue  roll  the  waters,  blue  the  sky 
Spreads  like  an  ocean  hung  on  high, 
Bespangled  with  those  isles  of  light, 
So  wildly,  spiritually  bright. 
Who  ever  gazed  upon  their  shining 
And  turned  to  earth  without  repining, 
Nor  wished  for  wings  to  flee  away 
And  mix  with  their  eternal  ray  ?" 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Mr.  Williams,  when  she  stopped  ;  "  at 
least  it  would  be  hypercritical  to  raise  such  an  objection. 
Except  when  the  moon  is  at  its  full,  stars  can  be  seen : 
and  even  to-night  you  can  see  them  dimly." 

"  Yes,  but  not '  wildly,  spiritually  bright.'  And  he  does 
say  the  '  round  moon.'  Now  the  moon  is  never  round 
but  when  it  is  full." 

Mr.  Williams  laughed.  "  You  are  a  young  critic,  Miss 
Margaret,  and  if  Byron  could  only  hear  you  he  would 
give  you  a  niche  in  his  '  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Re- 
viewers.' " 


120  THE  HOL COMBES. 

"Why,  Mr.  Williams?"  asked  Mary. 

"  You  know  at  the  commencement  of  B}Ton's  career 
he  wrote  some  poems  called  '  Hours  of  Idleness,'  and 
though  there  are  some  of  the  pieces  which  have  merit, 
taken  as  a  whole,  they  are  not  worthy  of  his  genius.  The 
'  Edinburgh  Review'  was  a  magazine  published  at  that 
time,  and  it  took  up  these  poems  most  savagely.  Among 
other  things  it  said,  I  remember,  the  poesy  of  this 
young  lord  belongs  to  the  class  which  neither  gods  nor 
men  are  said  to  permit.  Fortunately,  he  says  he  is  but 
an  intruder  into  the  groves  of  Parnassus.  He  never 
lived  in  a  garret  like  a  thoroughbred  poet.  Moreover,  he 
expects  no  profit  from  his  poems,  and  whether  they  suc- 
ceed or  not,  it  is  highly  improbable,  from  his  situation 
and  pursuits,  that  he  will  again  condescend  to  become  an 
author.  So  I  suppose  we  are  well  off  to  have  got  so 
much  from  a  man  of  his  station,  who  does  not  live  in  a 
garret,  but  has  the  sway  of  Newstead  Abbey.  So  I  say 
let  us  be  thankful,  and  bid  God  bless  the  giver,  nor  look 
a  gift  horse  in  the  mouth. 

"  Ityron's  most  dignified  course  would  have  been  silence 
under  such  gross  injustice,  which  would  have  recoiled 
upon  the  heads  of  the  perpetrators.  But  there  was  too 
much  littleness  in  the  man  for  any  such  course  as  that. 
For  the  rasping,  after  all,  he  had  afterwards  cause  to  be 
thankful,  as  it  roused  his  slumbering  genius,  and  gave 
him  his  rank  among  the  great  lights  of  the  age. 

"  He  wrote  his  'English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,' 
which  is  probably  the  wittiest,  most  caustic,  and  vigorous 
satire  which  has  ever  been  written  in  the  English  lan- 
guage. But  in  the  virulence  of  his  temper  he  forgot  to 
discriminate,  and  friends  and  foes  went  down  alike  under 
the  relentless  scythe  of  his  satirical  pen.  I  believe  he 
was  sorry  for  this  afterwards,  but  it  could  not  be  recalled. 


THE  PICNIC.  121 

I  would  not  advise  you,  however,  young  people,  to  culti- 
vate an  admiration  for  Byron.  He  was  a  bad  man  though 
a  great  genius;  and  I  do  not  think  the  style  of  his 
writings  healthy  or  profitable." 

Margaret  felt  herself  blushing.  She  was  just  at  the 
Byron  age;  and,  as  Mr.  Williams  spoke,  felt  conscious 
that  the  perusal  of  his  works  had  had  the  effect  of  strength- 
ening her  in  the  indulgence  of  the  moody,  melancholy 
temper  which  had  of  late  possessed  her. 

As  their  trip  to  the  mountain-top  was  fixed  for  very 
early  the  next  morning,  it  was  decided  to  disperse  about 
nine  o'clock,  which  they  did,  and  the  whole  party  were 
soon  asleep.  The  last  sound  which  fell  on  Margie's 
sleepy  ear  was  from  Mary,  saying, — 

"  I  believe  I  will  always  sleep  on  a  pallet,  it  is  so 
pleasant  to  feel  that  you  can't  fall  out  of  bed, — ain't  it, 
Margie?" 

As  there  was  no  response  as  an  encouragement  to 
further  conversation,  Mary  joined  her  sister  in  the  land 
of  dreams. 

"  Goodness !  how  funny  it  seems  to  be  waked  up  this 
early !"  said  Margaret,  rubbing  her  eyes,  as  Rachel  at 
last  succeeded  in  making  them  understand  that  the  whole 
party  would  be  waiting  for  them,  and  the  sun  would  be 
up  before  them  if  they  did  not  make  haste.  It  did  not 
take  them  very  long  to  make  their  toilets  ;  but  when  they 
got  down-stairs,  they  found  Mr.  Williams  leaning  over 
the  gate,  and  the  boys  rolling  restlessly  on  the  grass, 
awaiting  their  arrival ;  and  John  pronounced  them 
"humbugs"  because  they  took  so  long  to  dress. 

They  started  forward,  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  mount- 
ain, all  for  a  race  to  the  goal  which  was  nearly  half  a 
mile  off.  In  her  eager  enjoyment,  Margaret  almost  for- 

11 


122  THE  110  L  COMBES. 

got  her  mature  fifteen  years;  but  recalled  to  herself,  she 
assumed  her  expression  of  dignified  consciousness,  and 
fell  back ;  and  Mr.  Williams  and  herself  followed  the 
others  at  a  slower  pace,  though  always  in  view  of  them. 

It  was  a  sight  worth  seeing,  those  country  girls  and 
boys,  with  the  agility  almost  of  Highlanders,  making 
such  speed  up  the  precipitous  side  of  the  mountain,  now 
clinging  to  a  tree  or  shoot,  or  holding  on  to  a  rock,  or 
planting  the  foot  more  firmly  on  the  slippery  path.  Mary 
was  so  light  and  active  that  she  reminded  Mr.  Williams  of 
the  fleet-footed  antelope  springing  from  rock  to  rock.  She 
outstripped  even  the  hardy  boys  ;  and  when  Margaret  and 
Mr.  Williams  were  still  far  below  them,  they  saw  Mary 
standing  on  the  topmost  verge  of  a  high  rock  which  crowned 
the  pealc,  waving  her  hat  to  proclaim  her  triumph. 

"  Stand  still  a  minute,  Mary,1'  called  out  Mr.  Williams, 
"  and  I  will  draw  your  likeness  !"  And  hurrying  past 
Margaret,  he  said,  "I  would  not  miss  that  chance  for  a 
scene  on  any  account." 

Mary,  highly  pleased  at  the  idea  of  having  her  picture 
taken,  stood  like  a  statue,  while  the  artist  got  out  his 
drawing  materials,  and  commenced  rapidly  to  sketch  the 
pretty  child  with  the  glowing  cheeks  and  laughing  eyes, 
and  that  wealth  of  beautiful  hair.  Just  then  the  sun, 
rising  above  the  horizon,  tinged  with  his  earliest  beams 
the  figure  on  the  rocky  peak,  tinted  the  bright  hair  like 
threads  of  gold,  and  lighted  up  the  whole  scene  with  magi- 
cal beauty.  How  the  young  artist  wished  for  the  pencil 
of  a  Rubens  that  he  might  do  justice  to  his  subject ;  and 
how  often,  in  after-years,  did  the  memory  of  that  beautiful, 
fairy-like  child  come  back  to  him  as  she  stood  there,  look- 
ing down  upon  him  with  her  coronet  of  gold  sparkling  in 
the  beams  of  the  rising  sun  ! 

He  had  made  but  a  rough  sketch,  but  it  was  enough  to 


THE  PICNIC.  123 

guide  him.  Mary  exclaimed,  with  an  artlessness  which 
made  them  all  smile, — 

"  Ah,  me,  how  pretty  !     And  it  looks  like  me,  too  !" 

"Why,  Mary,  what  a  piece  of  vanity!"  said  Margaret, 
in  a  shocked  tone  of  voice  which  brought  the  crimson  to 
Mary's  face. 

"  Indeed !  indeed ! — I  did  not  mean — I  did  not  say — I 
— Pshaw !  I  meant  the  drawing  was  pretty  1" 

"  We  all  know  what  you  meant,  my  child,"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
liams. "  As  I  told  your  sister,  last  night,  she  is  rather 
hypercritical.  Let  her  confine  herself  to  assailable  people, 
like  Byron  and  others,  and  not  send  the  arrows  of  her  criti- 
cism towards  such  harmless  objects  as  you  and  myself." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Margaret,  her  eyes  flashing 
upon  him,  "  that  you  are  making  a  rather  lame  attempt, 
Mr.  Williams,  to  get  up  an  edition  of  '  English  Bards  and 
Scotch  Reviewers'  for  my  chastisement.  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you." 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Holcombe.  I  did  not  mean  to  be 
rude ;  but  I  could  not  bear  that  you  should  suggest  a 
consciousness  to  your  sister,  whose  perfect  freedom  from 
it,  or  assumption  of  any  kind,  is  her  greatest  charm." 

He  had  spoken  in  a  low  tone,  so  that  Mary  might  not 
catch  his  explanation  ;  but  Margaret  was  not  appeased. 

"  You  mean,  I  suppose,  to  insinuate,  Mr.  Williams,  that 
I  possess  the  qualities  which  you  esteem  her  for  lacking?" 

He  did  not  speak  for  an  instant,  but  seeing  her  waiting 
still  for  an  answer,  he  said, — 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  nor  do  I  think  it  could  be  fairly  in- 
ferred from  what  I  did  say.  I  have  no  right  to  pronounce 
judgment  upon  you,  nor  will  I  consent  to  be  forced 
into  it." 

Margaret  turned  on  her  heel  and  walked  away, — her 
love  of  approbation  was  very  strong,  and  she  felt  keenly 


124  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

the  implied  reproof  in  Mr.  Williams's  words ;  but  it  did 
not  do  her  the  good  it  might  have  done,  it  only  made  her 
angry,  and  her  uncandid  comment  upon  the  whole  was,  that 
Mary's  beauty  had  turned  her  sober  teacher's  brain,  and 
made  him  view  everything  she  did  in  an  exaggerated  light; 
and  then  the  old  cry  came  back,  "Oh,  that  I  were  beautiful !" 

Breakfast  was  ready  for  them  when  they  reached  the 
cottage ;  but  everybody  was  tired,  and  Margaret's  brow 
had  not  yet  smoothed,  so  it  did  not  possess  the  charm  of 
the  supper  the  night  before. 

Each  one  was  to  follow  the  bent  of  his  inclinations  for 
the  day.  And  the  boys  got  out  guns  and  fishing-tackle 
to  provide  their  family  with  food,  as  they  pompously 
announced ;  Mr.  Williams  was  not  well  enough  to  accom- 
pany them,  so  he  decided  to  remain  behind,  and  as  a 
proffer  of  peace  proposed  a  game  of  chess  with  Miss  Hoi- 
combe.  The  young  lady  in  question  declined,  however, 
and  went  off  into  the  grove  to  write  letters.  So  Mary 
claimed  his  promise  to  teach  her  to  draw.  The  morning 
was  whiled  away  very  quietly,  reading  soon  superseding 
drawing  and  writing  ;  at  length,  however,  Mary  becoming 
tired  of  her  inertia  started  off  on  a  tour  of  inspection. 
Some  little  time  was  spent  in  stud}Ting  natural  history  by 
observing  the  birds  and  insects,  and  she  was  just  wonder- 
ing where  Mr.  Williams  was  that  she  might  consult  him 
about  some  of  her  discoveries,  when  her  eye  caught  sight 
of  a  sapling.  It  was  the  work  of  a  minute  to  pull  it 
down  and  mount  it, — and  her  delight  knew  no  bounds 
when  she  found  herself  flying  up  and  down  in  the  soft 
breeze  ;  the  amusement  suited  her  admirably. 

There  was  an  observer  of  her  motions  hidden  from 
view  by  some  undergrowth  about  ten  yards  off,  and  lay- 
ing down  his  book  he  amused  himself  watching  the 
feathery-looking  little  figure  in  her  light  draperies  flitting 


THE  PICNIC.  125 

up  and  down  before  his  eyes ;  he  felt  impelled  to  join 
her  and  be  a  boy  again,  so  vividly  did  the  scene  recall 
the  days  of  his  childhood.  Just  then,  however,  the  crunch- 
ing of  the  dry  leaves  announced  the  approach  of  another 
outsider,  and  he  heard,  without  seeing-,  Margaret's  tone 
of  grave  reproof  and  shocked  propriety. 

"  Oh,  Mary  !  I  declare  I  never  saw  such  a  tomboy 
as  you  are.  You  forget  how  old  you  are,  my  child.  Why, 
if  any  one  were  to  see  you  they  would  be  perfectly 
shocked  at  your  appearance.  Suppose  Mr.  Williams  were 
to  come  up  now  ?" 

"  I  wish  he  would,"  said  Mary,  without  slackening  her 
pace  ;  "  I  think  he  would  like  a  ride  himself,  it  is  perfectly 
splendid,  a  great  deal  better  than  horseback." 

"  How  in  the  world  did  you  ever  get  up  there  ?"  said 
Margaret. 

"  Oh,  nothing  easier ;  you  see  it  is  so  thin  I  just  pulled  it 
down  to  the  ground  and  held  on  to  it  until  I  mounted.  No  one 
is  about,  Margie ;  just  try  it,  you  don't  know  how  nice  it  is." 

Margie  laughed  ;  she  was  child  enough  to  like  the  fun, 
though  not  quite  willing  to  lay  herself  open  to  the  charge 
of  inconsistency.  As  Mary  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her 
expressed  disapprobation,  however,  perhaps  it  had  made 
no  impression  upon  her. 

"  I  have  half  a  mind  to  try,"  she  said.  "  Where  is  Mr. 
Williams  ?" 

"  I  think  he  must  have  gone  to  the  house.  I'll  watch 
and  listen, — no  one  shall  catch  you." 

A  little  longer  struggle  between  the  child  and  woman 
in  the  girl,  and  the  child  conquered.  Mary  got  off,  and 
obligingly  held  the  steed  down  very  low  while  her  sister 
mounted,  secretly  exultant  that  now  her  frailties  must 
meet  with  some  leniency  since  the  dignified  young  lady 
of  fifteen  was  transgressing. 

11* 


126  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

In  another  minute  Margaret  was  flying  away  in  as  full 
enjoyment  as  Mary's  bad  been,  and  the  recumbent  figure 
among  the  trees,  very  much  amused  at  the  whole  scene, 
was  trying  to  roll  himself  farther  out  of  sight,  so  that  he 
might  make  his  way  to  the  house.  To  him  they  were 
merely  two  children  at  play,  but  he  well  knew  that  Mar- 
garet's wrath  would  be  dire  if  he  was  caught,  so  his  most 
earnest  desire  was  to  make  his  escape. 

The  very  efforts  he  made,  however,  defeated  his  object ; 
as  the  fair  equestrienne  made  a  higher  flight  than  usual 
she  caught  sight  of  a  moving  mass  among  the  bushes. 

In  an  instant  Mary's  riderless  steed  sprang  back  to  its 
position,  and  Margaret  only  managed  to  ejaculate  "  A 
man  !"  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Mr.  Williams, 
finding  that  he  was  discovered,  came  forward,  not  very 
much  disconcerted ;  and  Mary  threw  herself  on  the 
ground  and  laughed  so  that  she  could  not  speak. 

"Forgive  me,  Miss  Holcombe,"  said  Mr.  Williams,  "it 
seems  I  am  in  bad  luck  to-day;  this  is  twice  I  have 
fallen  under  your  displeasure."  The  words  were  peni- 
tent, but  there  was  a  tone  in  the  voice  which  revealed 
to  her  the  fact  that  if  he  dared  he  would  join  Mary  in 
her  laugh  on  the  grass. 

Her  answer  was  indignant  in  the  extreme  :  "  Mr.  Wil- 
liams, I  scarcely  expected  to  find  you  occupying  the  po- 
sition of  a  spy.  I  thought  you  were  a  gentleman,  at  any 
rate.  I  shall  let  papa  know  as  soon  as  I  go  home  to 
whom  he  has  intrusted  us." 

"I  shall  save  you  the  trouble,  my  dear  young  lady," 
he  said,  his  voice  betraying  none  of  the  feeling  which 
showed  itself  in  his  face.  "I  shall  tell  him  myself;  no 
doubt  he  will  be  very  much  amused  at  the  whole  inci- 
dent." 

The  idea  of  being  placed  in  the  ludicrous  position  she 


THE  PICNIC.  127 

knew  his  story  must  put  her  was  too  much ;  words  failed 
her  and  she  burst  into  tears. 

Mr.  Williams,  like  all  men,  and  particularly  young 
men,  had  a  dread  of  hysterics,  and,  besides,  he  was 
really  sorry  to  see  her  so  distressed ;  so,  going  up  to  her 
and  speaking  very  gently,  he  said, — 

"  You  asked  me  this  morning  if  I  thought  you  pos- 
sessed the  qualities  of  which  I  pronounced  Mary  so 
free.  I  will  answer  that  question  now  by  telling  you 
why  I  was  interested  in  the  little  scene  I  have  just 
witnessed.  I  had  not  this  morning  quite  made  up  my 
mind  what  I  thought,  and  I  lay  there  a  little  while  since 
dissecting  your  character.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  found  ?" 
He  took  silence  for  consent  and  went  on  :  "I  saw  you 
making  a  great  mistake,  I  said  to  myself.  Oh,  why  will 
she  not  see  that  genuine  childhood  is  the  most  beautiful 
thing  in  the  world,  and  that  she  loses  the  best  part  of 
her  life  by  assuming  the  airs  and  rights  of  a  woman  ? 

"  To  my  surprise,  however,  in  a  moment  I  found  that 
the  child-nature  was  there,  though  in  abeyance ;  and  I 
watched  with  all  the  interest  of  a  philosopher  to  find 
which  nature  was  predominant,  and  almost  felt  a  triumph 
when  I  found  the  real  Miss  Holcombe  without  the  dis- 
guise she  chooses  to  assume.  I  have  so  high  an  opinion 
of  you  in  many  respects  that  I  have  not  been  able  to 
reconcile  myself  to  what  I  must  consider  as  a  blemish  in 
your  character.  Take  my  advice  and  don't  thwart  na- 
ture. She  is  more  lovely  in  her  operations  than  art  will 
ever  be." 

He  turned  and  walked  hastily  down  the  path  leading 
to  the  house,  rightly  judging,  if  he  gave  her  an  oppor- 
tunity to  reply,  pride,  not  quite  conquered,  might  impel 
her  to  say  something  for  which  they  would  both  be  sorry ; 
and  he  knew  that  if  she  were  left  alone  her  better  self 


128  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

would  conquer.  When  he  had  walked  about  three  or 
four  yards  from  the  girls,  he  turned  and  beckoned  Mary 
to  follow  him. 

The  result  proved  his  conduct  wise,  as  Margaret  ap- 
peared at  the  dinner-table  with  a  softened  manner,  the 
traces  of  tears  not  yet  obliterated. 

The  rest  of  the  visit  was  delightfully  spent  in  various 
amusements,  and  nothing  else  happened  to  mar  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  prolonged  picnic,  and  the  party  returned  home 
with  many  regrets  that  another  happy  time  was  past. 

They  found  everything  as  usual  at  Rose  Hill,  except 
that  Lilias  still  appeared  listless  and  languid.  She 
wanted  to  hear  all  about  the  trip,  but  was  so  wearied 
before  they  got  through  that  they  had  to  stop.  Her  con- 
dition was  beginning  to  excite  some  apprehension  in  Mrs. 
Holcombe,  though  no  one  else  seemed  to  observe  any- 
thing peculiar. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE   ANGEL   OP   DEATH. 

"  MR.  HOLCOMBE,"  called  Jean,  as  he  started  off  on 
Festus  the  next  morning,  "  I  wish  you  would  ask  Dr. 
Campbell  to  come  and  see  Lilias." 

Mr.  Holcombe  turned  quickly  in  his  saddle  and  said, 
"What  is  the  matter?  There  don't  seem  to  me  to  be 
anything  but  debility,  caused  by  this  miserably  warm 
weather." 

"  No,  that  is  all ;  but  still  I  feel  uneasy.  Perhaps 
she  needs  some  tonic." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  dare  say  she  does.  I  will  call  and  tell  the 
doctor  ;  but,  Jean,  for  goodness'  sake,  don't  be  so  gloomy. 
You  are  a  perfect  Jeremiah.  I  have  seen  her  this  way 
before,  and  I  know  it  is  only  a  little  lassitude.  She  will 
be  well  in  a  few  days." 

Jean  smiled  at  him  as  he  rode  off,  but  could  not  adopt 
his  idea.  She  went  back  to  the  room  and  looked  at  the 
little  face  almost  as  white  and  delicate  as  the  gown  which 
she  wore,  and  she  felt  sure  that  there  must  be  real  ground 
for  anxiety.  Here  she  had  two  months  more  of  warm 
weather  still,  and  already  so  reduced ;  and  yet  no  one 
seemed  to  see  it  but  herself.  The  fact  was  the  child  had 
always  been  so  much  of  an  invalid  that  the  rest  of  the 
family  had  become  accustomed  to  it,  and  did  not  remark 
the  great  change  which  had  taken  place  in  a  short  time, 
and  then,  too,  she  never  complained ;  indeed,  she  hardly 

(129) 


130  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

seemed  to  have  the  strength  to  do  so,  but  lay  all  day 
long  like  a  blighted  lily  dying  in  the  glaring  sun. 

"Betsy  and  Nelly"  and  the  other  members  of  her 
"  family"  lay  all  around,  and  she  would  look  at  them  with 
her  old  tender  smile  without  the  old  gladness.  Even 
the  pretty  work-box  was  laid  aside  "  until  cool  weather 
comes." 

Jean  read  and  sung  to  her,  and  Margie  and  Mary  did 
the  same,  and  the  boys  would  come  in  with  their  burst 
of  joyous  health  ;  but  nothing  seemed  much  to  rouse  her 
from  the  apathy  into  which  she  had  fallen.  Every  one 
said,  "  Oh,  she  is  always  so  during  the  heat  of  the  sum- 
mer months."  And  so  matters  had  been  allowed  to  pro- 
gress. That  morning  Jean  had  called  in  old  Mammy; 
and  as  soon  as  she  saw  her  she  said,  "  You  had  better 
send  for  the  doctor,  Miss  Jean  ;  she  is  a  very  sick  child ; 
don't  mind  what  Mars'  Ned  say;  he  never  will  look  at 
trouble  till  it  corne  ;  she  ain't  never  been  so  low  down 
as  this  before." 

Dr.  Campbell  had  been  the  family  physician  of  the. 
Holcombes  for  the  past  thirty  years :  and  his  arrival  was 
always  hailed  by  the  children  as  an  era  in  their  lives. 
Accordingly,  when  his  sober  old  gray  was  seen  coming 
out  of  the  grove,  on  this  morning,  at  least  three  witnesses 
announced  the  fact  at  Mrs.  Holcombe's  door ;  and  even 
the  sick  child  roused  up  to  some  appearance  of  interest 
when  the  old  gentleman  made  his  appearance. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  Dame  Lilias,  hey?" 
said  he,  kissing  the  white  little  face  which  smiled  up  at 
him  from  the  pillow.  "At  your  old  tricks,  I  perceive. 
Young  woman,  what  hurts  you  ?" 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  doctor;  I  feel 
right  well." 

"  You  do  ;  then  why  don't  you  get  up  ?" 


THE  ANGEL    OF  DEATH.  13i 

"  Well,  I  will  to-morrow, — but  it  is  so  warm  to-day.  I 
like  to  lie  here  and  have  Nanny  to  fan  me." 

"  Ah,  poor  little  puss  ! — do  you  eat  anything  ?" 

"  Yes,  sometimes." 

And  this  was  all.  And,  after  ordering  strong  tonics 
and  perfect  rest,  he  said  "  Good-by." 

"  Will  you  come  to-morrow,  doctor  ?"  said  the  child. 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  you  want  me."  And  as  he  raised  up  from 
kissing  her  farewell,  Jean  saw  the  moisture  in  his  eyes. 

She  followed  him  out  of  the  room,  and  said,  anxiously, — 

"  Doctor,  is  there  anything  serious  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  madam;  everything  is  serious  with  a  little 
atom  of  mortality  like  that,  with  not  the  life  of  a  flea  in 
it.  There  is  nothing  to  build  on." 

"  Oh,  doctor," — and  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes, — 
"  she  will  not  die,  will  she  ?" 

"  God  only  knows  that,  madam.  If  a  cool  rain  were 
to  come  up  she  might  recuperate,  and  she  may  yield  to 
the  tonics ;  but  no  one  can  tell.  But  there  must  be  some 
revival,  and  soon,  for  her  blood  flows  but  slowly  now." 

"  Cannot  something  be  done,  doctor  ?"  And  the  trem- 
bling hands  beat  the  air  as  if  the  sense  of  helplessness 
was  too  great  in  the  presence  of  such  danger. 

"  Oh,  yes,  madam.  Let  her  be  perfectly  still ;  and 
don't  try  to  rouse  her  too  vigorously.  Rest  is  the  best 
thing  for  her.  No  matter  if  she  does  not  notice. things, 
it  is  want  of  strength  which  causes  it ;  and  the  strength 
she  has  will  be  best  recruited  by  perfect  quiet.  She  has 
no  disease." 

There  is  no  sickness  so  trying  to  the  nurse  as  that  in 
which  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  sit  and  watch. 
So  long  as  the  hands  are  busy,  the  heart  finds  relief;  but 
to  sit  motionless,  and  see  the  pulsation  flowing  feebler 
each  hour,  is  dreary  work. 


132  THE  II OL COMBES. 

At  first  the  tonics  raised  the  pulse,  and  light  came 
back  into  the  blue  eyes  ;  but  it  was  only  the  feeble  flicker 
of  the  little  rushlight  which,  it  soon  became  apparent  to 
all,  would,  before  long,  die  out. 

Mr.  Holcombe  was  hard  to  convince  on  the  subject, 
as  he  determinedly  put  conviction  from  him,  and  would 
sit  beside  her;  and,  whenever  she  waked,  try  to  make 
her  laugh.  The  most  he  could  ever  gain,  however,  was 
one  of  her  soft,  feeble  smiles. 

One  night  Jean  and  himself  sat  beside  the  little  crib 
on  one  side,  and  Margie  and  Mary  knelt  on  the  other, 
while  Mammy  sat  at  a  little  distance ;  'Nanny  (her  nurse) 
having  fallen  asleep  from  exhaustion. 

The  blue  eyes  were  opened,  and  looked  around  in  sur- 
prise at  so  many  gathered  about  her  bed.  The  expression 
of  the  face  was  so  different  from  what  it  had  been  for 
some  time  past  that  Mr.  Holcombe,  turning  to  his  wife, 
said,  smiling, — 

"  There  now,  Jean,  she  is  better ;  just  see  how  bright 
she  is  !" 

Old  Mammy  spoke.  "  Oh,  Mars'  Ned,  so  is  the  candle 
when  it  jumps  up  out  of  the  socket  jes  before  it  goes 
out." 

He  turned  around  on  her  almost  angrily. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Mammy  ?  The  child  is  evidently 
better,— ain't  you,  my  darling  ?"  Stooping  over  her. 

"  I  don't  know ;"  and  the  little  hand,  trembling  with 
weakness,  went  up  to  her  head.  "Am  I  very  sick,  papa? 
What  does  it  mean  ?  What  are  you  all  crying  for  ?"  And 
the  blue  eyes  searched  each  face  keenly. 

"You  have  been  very  ill,  my  darling  baby,"  said  he, 
in  vain  striving  to  control  the  quiver  in  his  voice  as  he 
spoke.  "  We  have  been  very  miserable, — but  you  feel 
better  now.  Tell  papa,  Lilias,  you  feel  better."  And  the 


THE  ANGEL    OF  DEATH.  133 

strong  man  broke  down  over  the  agony  in  the  tones  of 
his  own  voice. 

"  I  did  not  know  I  was  sick :  I  only  feel  tired.  Mar- 
gie, what  are  you  and  Mary  doing  here  ?"  She  was 
evidently  becoming  confused,  and  the  girls  withdrew  to  a 
little  distance ;  but  the  anxious  eyes  were  still  wide  open, 
restless,  dissatisfied.  At  last  she  said, — 

"Mamma,  come  here."  And  as  she  knelt  beside  her, 
the  little  arms  crept  around  her  neck,  and  she  whis- 
pered,— 

"  Am  I  going  to  die  ?" 

"  You  would  not  be  afraid,  Lilias,  would  you  ?"  was 
the  evasive  answer. 

"  I  don't  know :  tell  me  about  it." 

"  You  know  you  would  go  to  heaven  to  be  with 
Jesus." 

"  Say  '  Suffer  little  children.'" 

"Yes,  He  said  'Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me 
and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.' " 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  by  myself," — and  the  clasp  of  the 
arms  became  tighter, — "  I  am  afraid." 

"  Listen,  Lilias  !  Don't  you  remember  in  your  pretty 
book  about  the  shepherd  in  the  mountains,  and  the  pic- 
ture you  thought  so  pretty,  where  he  takes  up  the  little 
lambs  and  carries  them  over  the  rocks  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  are  one  of  the  little  lambs,  and  Jesus  is 
the  kind  shepherd,  He  will  take  you  safely  to  the  end  of 
your  journey." 

"  Are  you  coming,  too?" 

"After  awhile,  darling,  when  God  is  ready  for  me." 

"And  papa?" 

12 


134  TUB  HOLCOMBES. 

Jean  moved  aside  and  made  room  for  him  close  beside 
her. 

"  Papa,  are  you  coming,  too  ?" 

"Oh,  Lilias,  stay  with  me!     I  don't  know,  my  child." 

"You  must  come,  papa.  I  would  stay  if  I  could,  but 
God  wants  me." 

"Lilias,"  said  Jean  again,  in  her  low,  trembling  voice, 
"  do  you  remember,  baby,  in  the  same  story  of  the  shep- 
herd, that  sometimes,  when  the  old  sheep  would  stray 
away  from  him,  he  took  the  little  lamb  in  his  arms,  and  then 
the  old  sheep  would  follow  without  any  more  trouble  ?" 

"  Yes."    And  the  eyes  looked  full  of  interest. 

"Now,  maybe  when  the  Good  Shepherd  takes  our  little 
lamb  we  will  follow  Him  in  the  same  way." 

"  Yes,  all  must  come.  Papa,  Margie,  Mary,  and  John, 
— all  come  soon."  She  was  very  tired  now,  and  they 
gave  her  a  tablespoonful  of  brandy,  and  Mr.  Holcombe 
sent  off  for  Dr.  Campbell. 

The  bright  eyes  commenced  their  wanderings  again. 

"  Where  is  Mamie  ?" 

"Here,  darling."  And  Mary  stooped  over  and  kissed 
her. 

"Mamie,  take  care  of  my  family  ;  don't  let  them  get  all 
broke  up." 

The  promise  was  given.  "  And,"  continued  the  fail- 
ing voice,  "  Margie  can  have  my  work-box,  and  John  my 
Hollo  Serious, — and  mamma,  you  let  Mammy  have  my 
chair,  and  give  Nanny  my  ring, — that  is  all  I  have  got." 
This  was  said  at  intervals  as  her  strength  would  allow ; 
then  a  long  silence  before  she  spoke  again. 

"Mamma,  will  I  walk  when  I  get  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  darling,  you  will  leave  this  poor,  little,  suffering 
body  behind  you,  and  your  spirit  will  be  as  bright  and 
joyous  as  any  other, — you  will  be  very  happy." 


THE  ANGEL   OF  DEATH.  135 

"  Will  I  know  anybody  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  your  mamnia,  about  whom  we  have  talked 
so  often,  and  so  many  dear  friends  who  died  before  you 
were  born." 

"  Is  that  the  '  Happy' land,  far,  far  away,'  mamma?" 

"  Yes,  darling ;  but  not  so  far  away  now.  I  think  you 
are  nearing  the  river." 

"What  river,  mamma?"  And  the  voice  grew  alarmed. 

"  Never  mind,  dearie ;  it  is  a  very  shallow  stream  for 
you, — the  Shepherd  will  take  you  over."  And  she  was 
quieted. 

"  Is  Margie  there,  mamma  ?" 

Margie  herself  answered  her.  "  Yes,  darling,  what 
do  you  want  ?" 

"  Sing,  Margie,  '  There  is  a  Happy  Land." 

The  voices  of  the  two  girls  rose  sweetly  in  the  quiet 
of  the  room.  The  white  lids  closed  over  the  violet  eyes, 
and,  when  they  opened,  they  saw  "  another  land  than 
ours." 

When  Dr.  Campbell  arrived  he  found  them  all  gathered 
around  the  little  lifeless  form,  while  Jean  was  trying  to  con- 
vince Mr.  Holcombe  that  she  was  gone.  There  is  always 
something  painfully  striking  in  the  contrast  between  the 
sobs  and  grief  of  bereaved  friends  around  the  dead  and 
the  marble  stillness  of  the  corpse.  So  thought  the  doctor 
as  he  entered  the  chamber  of  death, — there  she  lay  with 
a  smile  on  her  parted  lips  like  a  child  who  had  just 
dropped  to  sleep ;  while  the  sobs  and  cries  of  the  chil- 
dren and  servants  sounded  noisily  through  the  room, 
and  Mr.  Holcombe  tried  in  vain  to  command  silence,  in- 
sisting that  it  would  wake  the  little  slumberer.  As  Dr. 
Campbell  entered,  he  said, — 

"  Oh,  doctor,  I  am  glad  you  are  here,  you  can  assure 
these  poor  frightened  children  that  she  is  only  sleeping." 


136  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

And  he  tried  in  vain  to  maintain  his  composure  by  in- 
sisting upon  this  point.  The  doctor  came  forward,  took 
the  limp  little  hand  in  his,  laid  his  other  hand  next  the 
still  heart,  raised  the  closed  lids  of  the  now  sightless 
orbs,  and  put  his  finger  into  the  mouth.  It  reminded 
Jean  of  the  old  scene  in  the  prophet's  chamber,  where 
the  dead  son  of  the  house  lay  upon  the  bed,  and  the  old 
prophet  bent  above  the  corpse,  "  But  there  was  no  sound 
nor  hearing." 

Turning  to  the  bereaved  father,  and  laying  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  he  said,  "  Be  comforted,  Edward,  '  she  is 
where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,' — your  little, 
weary  one  is  at  rest."  And  the  sobs  which  had  been 
suspended  during  the  examination  broke  out  again. 
While  the  little  sleeper  lay,  regardless  of  the  confusion, 
with  the  happy  smile  upon  her  lips. 

"  She  has  learned  the  song  they  sing 

Whom  Jesus  has  made  free  ; 
And  tho  glorious  walls  of  heaven  still  ring 

With  her  new-born  melody," 

said  Jean,  as  she  kissed  the  white  brow  of  the  little 
sleeper ;  and,  taking  her  husband  by  the  arm,  persuaded 
him  to  go  with  her  out  of  the  room. 

Brother  George  and  sister  Annie  came  to  them  as  soon 
as  they  heard  of  the  trouble, — how  different  from  the  last 
gathering  beneath  the  Rose  Hill  roof ! 

"It  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning  than  to 
the  house  of  feasting,"  said  good  sister  Annie,  as  Jean 
spoke  of  the  contrast ;  "  some  of  the  sweetest  seasons  of 
communion  with  my  Saviour  have  been  after  the  death 
of  my  most  precious  friends.  He  always  makes  up  our 
losses  to  us  by  giving  us  more  and  more  of  himself, — 
there  need  never  be  a  vacuum  in  the  heart." 

They  stayed  until  the  little  empty  casket  was  laid  away 


THE  ANGEL    OF  DEATH.  137 

in  its  silent  resting-place,  then  returned  to  their  homes. 
Before  he  left,  Mr.  George  Holcombe  handed  his  brother 
the  following  lines: 

"Say,  have  they  spring  in  heaven,  as  we  on  earth, 
That  tender  buds  should  be  demanded  there, 

That,  from  your  flow'rets  of  terrestrial  birth, 
One  all  acknowledged  lovely,  sweet,  and  rare 

Should  thus  be  called,  and  softly  borne  away 

To  ope  its  petals  in  celestial  day? 

"  You  have  one  flow'ret  less,  and  He  one  more, 

But  yours  must  know  the  cold,  the  blight,  the  storm, 

His  shall  be  nurtured  where  no  tempests  roar, 
No  change  nor  death  may  touch  the  gentle  form 

Then  do  not  grieve,  when  more  to  you  are  given, 

To  offer  up  one  bud  to  bloom  in  heaven. 

"Was  she  the  loveliest?     Give  the  best  to  Him. 

Was  she  the  dearest?     Fittest  for  the  skies. 
Was  she  the  purest  ?     Never  more  may  dim 

Sin  with  its  taint  the  lustre  of  her  eyes. 
Was  she  the  best-beloved,  the  fond,  the  true  ? 
Then  give  the  best-beloved,  it  is  His  due." 


12* 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

MARGARET     LEAVES     HOME. 

PERHAPS  no  member  of  the  family  felt  the  vacuum 
created  by  the  death  of  Lilias  more  constantly  than  did 
Jean. 

She  had  been  so  much  with  her,  and  was  such  a  care 
upon  her,  that  for  weeks  she  felt  perfectly  lost.  Her 
occupation  was  gone.  And  when  the  little  crib  was  put 
away,  out  of  sight,  and  the  familiar  clothing  was  no 
longer  seen,  she  began  to  realize,  for  the  first  time,  that 
"the  child  was  not." 

They  laid  her  beside  her  mother  in  the  family  burying- 
ground,  and  the  childi'en  used  to  keep  the  grave  covered 
with  fresh  flowers  until  the  frosts  of  winter  stripped  the 
bushes. 

It  is  an  easy  thing  to  say,  "  Oh,  she  is  so  much  better 
off!"  and  so  they  all  know.  But  grief  is  a  selfish  thing, 
and  is  apt  to  dwell  more  on  the  empty  chair  in  the  house- 
hold than  the  shining  spirit  in  heaven. 

Mr.  Holcombe,  impulsive  and  sanguine  in  tempera- 
ment, suffered,  as  such  people  always  suffer,  very  in- 
tensely. As  old  Mammy  expressed  it,  "  He  took  trouble 
monsus  hard." 

He  could  not,  for  a  long  time,  hear  her  name  mentioned. 
But  Jean  said  to  him  one  day, — 

"  My  dear  husband,  I  do  not  know  how  you  can  bear 
to  let  the  name  of  our  little  one  die  out  of  the  household. 
(138) 


MARGARET  LEAVES  HOME.  139 

Let  us  keep  that  alive,  at  any  rate.  I  love  to  think  and 
talk  of  her  pretty  ways  and  her  quaint  sayings.  They 
recur  to  me  all  the  time,  and  if  you  will  only  for  awhile 
put  a  constraint  upon  yourself,  I  am  sure  you  will  find 
comfort  in  it." 

He  did  make  the  effort,  with  success,  and  it  became  no 
uncommon  thing  to  hear  constantly  in  the  household, 
"As  our  dear  little  Lilias  said."  It  is  true,  the  smile 
which  accompanied  the  recollection  was  often  sad,  and 
accompanied  by  a  tear;  but  after  awhile  her  humorous 
sayings  became  quite  household  words.  But  it  takes  a 
long  time  for  a  wound  such  as  that  to  be  healed.  And 
the  children  were  more  subdued  in  their  enjoyments, 
and  showed  conclusively  that  little  Lilias  was  not  for- 
gotten. 

During  the  fall,  the  question  of  sending  Margaret 
away  to  school  was  often  discussed,  and  since  there  was 
no  longer  open  war  between  herself  and  the  other  mem- 
bers of  the  family,  and  she  was  old  enough  to  claim 
greater  advantages  than  a  home  school  afforded,  Jean 
ceased  to  oppose  the  move.  So  that  obstacle  being  re- 
moved, the  arrangement  was  soon  decided  upon. 

At  the  first  mention  of  the  plan,  Margaret  positively 
refused  to  listen  to  it,  but  when  she  heard  that  the  school 
fixed  upon  was  the  same  which  Ellen  Randolph  attended, 
she  soon  become  reconciled,  and,  with  the  pliability  of 
youth,  grew  enamored  of  the  idea,  and  would  at  last 
have  been  much  disappointed  if  the  decision  had  been 
reversed. 

There  was  an  excitement,  too,  in  getting  ready,  which 
was  very  pleasant  to  Margaret.  All  the  seamstresses  on 
the  place  were  busy  in  her  service,  and  the  shopping  ex- 
peditions to  C altogether  made  her  forget  the  pain 

of  parting  with  home  and  home  friends. 


140  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

Imagination  was  busy  building  castles  which  time 
would  surely  destroy.  She  could  not  help,  however,  some 
little  uneasiness  about  her  standing  at  school.  And  her 
pride  and  ambition  led  her  to  improve  every  moment  of 
time  under  Mr.  Williams,  until  he  was  astonished  at  her 
progress. 

The  day  before  she  left  was  spent  in  roving  over  all 
of  her  old  haunts — her  grotto  in  the  grove,  over  which 
the  ivy  she  had  planted  was  spreading  so  beautifully. 
Here  she  sat  a  long  time  with  her  head  on  her  hand,  and 
here  she  first  felt  that  she  was  giving  up  much  in  leaving 
her  happy  home,  for  it  was  happy  in  spite  of  her  self- 
made  sorrows  ;  of  late,  too,  habit  had  accustomed,  if  it 
had  not  reconciled,  her  to  the  existing  state  of  things. 
Lilias's  death-bed,  with  the  low-voiced  comforter  at  its 
side,  had  made  a  great  impression  upon  her;  and  while 
it  humbled  her  proud  spirit  to  think  that,  there,  she  had 
been  obliged  to  give  up  the  first  place  by  the  side  of  the 
dying  child,  at  the  same  time  she  had  more  than  once 
asked  herself  if  Lilias  had  died  the  year  before,  who 
would  have  been  there  to  guide  the  trembling  little  feet 
heavenward.  Even  her  father  had  never  given  these 
things  the  position  they  should  have  occupied  in  his 
thoughts,  and  she — how  could  she  have  pointed  to  a 
path  she  had  never  herself  trod  ?  And  her  heart,  always 
candid  and  truthful  to  itself,  acknowledged  the  good 
which  had  come  out  of  what  to  her  at  first  seemed  such 
unmitigated  evil. 

If  she  had  only  followed  the  impulse,  which  for  one 
moment  seized  her,  to  confess  all  this  where  the  acknow- 
ledgment was  due,  how  much  of  suffering  and  sin  would 
have  been  spared  her !  But  that  pride  to  which  Margaret 
Holcombe  was  a  prisoner  utterly  refused  to  allow  her  to 
make  any  humiliating  concessions. 


MARGARET  LEAVES  HOME.  HI 

"What!  go  and  humble  myself  before  her  and  say,  'I 
have  been  a  wicked,  bad  girl ;  I  am  so  sorry,  please  for- 
give me  !'  That  I  can  never  do." 

"But,"  said  her  better  nature,  "to  think  of  being  re- 
lieved from  this  load  of  self-reproach,  of  being  able  to  go 
away  leaving  nothing  but  love  behind  you,  and  then  the 
nobility  of  acknowledging  a  fault,  of  making  reparation 
to  one  you  have  so  grievously  injured  !" 

"Ab,  yes,"  whispered  Pride,  "and  to  have  yourself 
held  up  to  your  brother  and  sister  as  a  warning  against 
ill-doing  and  its  consequences."  And  Pride  exulted  over 
another  conquest. 

"I  am  going  away  so  soon  now  it  is  not  worth  while 
to  change  my  manner  ;  but  when  I  return  I  will  show 
her,  without  saying  anything  about  it,  that  my  feelings 
have  all  changed." 

This  she  considered  quite  a  concession,  and  her  self- 
approbation  rose  at  what  she  looked  upon  as  a  self-con- 
quest. "  Yes,  she  would  write  to  papa  and  send  her  love 
to  her;  that  will  gratify  him  so  much,  and  it  will  show 
him  that  I  think  myself  wrong  without  having  to  say  it." 

The  rustic  grotto  in  which  she  sat,  and  which  was  her 
favorite  resort,  was  formed  of  immense  blocks  of  lime- 
stone rock,  partly  a  natural  formation,  but  with  some 
assistance  from  art ;  it  extended  around  three  sides,  leav- 
ing a  space  in  the  center  about  nine  feet  square,  which 
was  surrounded  by  stone  seats,  while  the  green  grass 
formed  a  soft,  pretty  carpet  for  the  floor.  A  chance  acorn 
had  buried  itself  somewhere  amid  these  old  rocks,  and 
from  it  had  sprung  a  tree  which  spread  its  wide  branches 
over  the  place,  forming  a  beautiful  and  appropriate  roof, 
while  the  evergreen  ivy  was  fast  cementing  the  frag- 
ments of  the  rocks  together  with  its  resistless  fingers. 

The  tears  came  into  Margaret's  eyes  as  she  stood  in 


142  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

front  of  this  beautiful  arbor,  and  thought  how  long  it 
would  be  before  she  would  see  it  again. 

Her  next  visit  was  to  the  negro  quarters,  to  tell  the 
servants  all  good-by;  and  she  finished  her  course  at 
Mammy's  cabin,  where  she  received  the  usual  warm 
welcome. 

"  So  you  is  goin'  away  to-morrow,  my  child?" 

"  Yes,  Mammy,  I  suppose  so  ;  my  heart  begins  to  fail 
me." 

"  Of  course  it  do,  my  dear ;  and  I  kinnot  say  I  sees 
the  good  of  it." 

"  Well,  Mammy,  I  can  learn  so  much  more  at  school, 
not  only  books  but  music." 

"Why,  law,  honey,  it  do  seem  to  me  that,  smart  as 
you  is,  you  ought  to  ha'  learnt  all  that  is  in  the  books 
by  this  time." 

Margaret  laughed  at  Mammy's  limited  idea  of  the 
progress  of  literature,  but  she  did  not  attempt  the  task 
of  enlightenment ;  only  said, — 

"Well,  papa  wants  me  to  go." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  he  knows  what  he  is  about.  It  is  all 
right.  Don't  you  want  to  read  your  old  Mammy  a 
chapter  in  the  Bible  before  you  goes?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.     Where  is  the  book  ?" 

It  was  brought  from  an  ample  chest  in  the  corner, 
carefully  wrapped  in  a  white  cloth ;  and  Margie  heard, 
with  exemplary  patience,  the  oft-told  story  of  how  "  old 
marster"  give  this  Bible  to  her  mother,  and  she  left  it  to 
her. 

She  opened  at  random,  and  read  from  the  gospels  the 
teachings  of  the  Saviour ;  and  as  her  eye  caught  the 
passage  "  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  and 
forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven," 
the  image  of  a  white-robed  little  figure  rose  before  her ; 


MARGARET  LEAVES  HOME.  143 

and  she  heard  again  the  soft  voice  saying,  "  Say,  '  Suffer 
little  children.'" 

She  closed  the  book  hastily,  and  burying  her  face  in 
Mammy's  lap,  burst  into  tears. 

"Yes,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  old  woman,  patting  the 
head  which  lay  in  her  lap,  "  I  knowed  you  was  thinking 
about  that  dear  baby.  Well,  she  wouldn't  change  with 
us.  He  is  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  over  the 
river;  and,  Miss  Margaret,  don't  forgit,  when  you  goes 
to  that  furrin  school,  that  she  told  you  to  come  along 
after  her.  She  will  be  lookin'  out  fur  you,  'long  of  your 
ma  " 

As  it  is  not  our  purpose  to  follow  Margaret  through 
her  two  years  of  school-life,  we  will  close  her  present 
history  with  her  first  letters  home,  one  written  the  day 
after  her  father  left  her,  under  the  subduing  influence  of 
home-sickness ;  also  one  written  one  week  later. 

"WOODBINE,  November  14, 1856. 

"My  DEAREST  FATHER, — After  a  night  of  agony,  I  have 
risen  before  any  one  else  to  write  to  you.  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  miserable  I  am.  I  know  I  never  will  get  used 
to  being  here,  where  everything  is  so  different  from  home. 
I  feel  as  if  it  would  kill  me  to  rise  up  and  lie  down  to 
the  sound  of  a  bell  as  big  as  a  church-bell,  to  run  here 
and  run  there,  to  be  in  time  to  the  minute,  to  dress  by 
candlelight,  and  study  with  my  eyes  full  of  sleep.  Papa, 
let  me  come  home.  I  know  I  have  not  been  the  daughter 
I  ought  to  have  been ;  but,  indeed,  I  want  to  begin  now. 
Mr.  Williams  is  a  first-rate  teacher,  and  I  know  I  shall 
do  very  well  with  him ;  and  I  will  try  niy  best  to  im- 
prove in  my  music. 

"Oh,  papa,  suppose  any  of  you  should  die  while  I  am 
away,  and  I  not  get  home  in  time  !  I  laid  awake  all  night 


144  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

imagining  the  cars  running  off  the  track,  and  killing  you  on 
your  way  home.  Do  write  at  once  and  tell  me  you  are  safe. 

"  Everybody  is  very  kind,  but  I  am  very  unhappy. 
Ellen  Randolph  tries  to  comfort  me  by  telling  me  that 
everybody  feels  so  at  first,  that  she  hugged  her  trunk  for 
three  days  because  it  looked  like  home.  But  I  know  I 
never  shall  get  over  it :  and  I  do  hope  you  will  write  at 
once,  telling  me  to  come.  I  will  not  unpack  my  trunk 
until  I  hear  from  you. 

"  Tell  George  that  I  am  not  as  backward  as  I  expected, 
and  when  I  come  back  I  will  study  harder  than  ever. 

"  Tell  Mary  that  I  think  constantly  of  our  dear  bright 
room.  When  I  look  at  this  great  barn,  with  a  bed  in 
every  corner,  and  then  to  dress  and  undress  before  all 
these  strangers,  I  never  can  stand  it.  Suppose  you  let 
me  ask  if  I  can  have  a  room  to  myself.  It  is  all  so 
different  from  what  I  expected.  And  then,  too,  it  makes 
me  feel  so  strange,  for  everybody  to  know  each  other  so 
well  but  me  ;  even  Ellen  seems  farther  off  than  she  ever 
was  before,  because  she  has  so  many  friends,  and  I  have 
only  her. 

"  The  teachers  are  as  kind  as  they  can  be,  and  promised 
to  excuse  me  from  school  to-day,  because  they  felt  sorry 
for  me,  I  suppose.  But  they  will  have  to  keep  on  ex- 
cusing me  if  it  is  for  that,  as  I  know  I  never  will  get  any 
better. 

"  But  I  must  stop,  dear,  dear  papa,  in  time  for  the 
mail,  as  I  want  to  get  an  answer  as  soon  as  I  can.  Oh, 
how  I  wish  I  could  go  in  my  letter  ! 

"  Give  my  love  to  everybody.  Don't  forget,  everybody  ; 
grown  people,  children,  and  servants, — I  love  them  all. 
May  God  spare  us  all  to  meet  again  in  health  and  safety, 
is  my  earnest  prayer. 

"  Devotedly  your  daughter, 

"MARGARET. 


MARGARET  LEAVES  HOME.  145 

"P.  S. — I  am  so  sorry  for  everything  I  have  ever  said 
to  you  that  was  wrong  and  impertinent.  Please  forgive 
me." 

"WOODBINE,  November  22d. 

"MY  DEAR  PAPA, — Your  letter  has  just  reached  me,  and 
I  hasten  to  answer  it.  I  was  very  glad  to  hear  that  you 
had  such  a  pleasant  trip  home.  You  will  think  me  very 
silly,  I  dare  say,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  was  right  nerv- 
ous about  you  for  a  little  while.  I  agree  with  you  that 
it  would  be  very  foolish  to  come  home  now  after  making 
a  start  at  school.  Indeed,  I  feel  that  my  advantages  are 
so  great  here,  that  I  would  not  be  willing  to  resign  them 
even  to  go  back  to  dear  old  Rose  Hill. 

"I  must  have  written  you  quite  a  homesick  epistle, 
judging  from  your  answer.  I  hardly  know  what  I  said, 
as  I  wrote  in  a  great  hurry. 

"  The  teachers  are  so  sweet  and  kind,  I  love  them  all ; 
and  the  girls,  especially  my  room-mates,  are  lovely.  I 
did  not  like  being  in  the  room  with  so  many  at  first,  but 
I  don't  object  now.  You  get  so  well  acquainted  with  a 
girl  by  staying  in  the  same  room  with  her. 

"  I  think  I  am  going  on  very  well  with  my  music, — I 
practice  two  hours  a  day.  To-day  I  commenced  my  sing- 
ing-lessons, and  I  am  happy  to  say  Mr.  Branger  thinks 
I  have  a  very  good  voice.  I  am  thoroughly  interested 
in  all  my  studies,  dear  papa,  and  like  the  school  as  well 
as  I  could  like  any  place  away  from  home. 

"  It  seemed  so  strange  to  me,  at  first,  to  hear  a  great 
big  bell  all  the  time.  But  I  am  used  to  it  now,  and  don't 
object  to  it.  It  rings  every  forty  minutes  through  the 
day.  And  the  minute  the  first  sound  reaches  us  there  is 
a  stir  through  the  whole  house, — every  class  changes, 
and  all  of  the  pianos  change  their  occupants.  It  is  right 

13 


146  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

funny  how  we  have  to  hurry  to  get  to  our  places  in 
time. 

"  Well,  dear  papa,  it  is  time  for  me  to  go  to  study 
hour,  so  I  must  stop.  Ellen  sends  her  love  to  everybody. 
Give  mine  to  each  member  of  the  household,  and  believe 
me  your  devoted  child, 

"  MARGARET  HOLCOMBE." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

JEAN'S  DIARY. — TWO  YEARS'  GAP  FILLED  UP. 

July  1st.  I  can  hardly  believe  that  nearly  two  years 
have  passed  away  since  I  last  made  an  entry  in  my  diary. 
But  one  does  not  have  much  time  with  so  much  to  do  as 
I  have.  Since  Mrs.  Bascombe  left,  it  keeps  me  pretty 
busy. 

I  find  upon  looking  back  that  the  last  time  I  wrote 
in  this  book  I  recorded  the  account  of  dear  little  Lilias's 
death,  whose  place  in  our  hearts  can  never  be  filled, 
though  the  precious  gift  our  Father  gave  us  some  months 
after  has  been  the  greatest  comfort  to  us.  Though  we 
mourn  the  loss  of  our  dear  little  one,  we  have  learned  to 
bless  the  kind  hand  which  drew  her  so  gently  and  pain- 
lessly from  our  grasp,  and  now  shelters  her  so  safely  in 
his  bosom,  having  stripped  her  sweet  spirit  of  its  robe 
of  suffering  mortality,  leaving  it  at  liberty  to  soar  in  its 
joyous  freedom  through  the  realms  of  bliss. 

And  has  not  her  loss  been  blessed  to  us,  too,  in  be- 
ing the  means  of  leading  my  precious  husband  to  his 
Saviour?  I  can  never  forget  the  long  struggle  he  endured, 
and  how  he  could  never  lose  the  impression  of  the  little 
hand  beckoning  to  him,  and  the  tender  voice  saying,  "  You 
must  come,  too,  papa." 

And  now  how  changed  he  is  !  and  how  happy  !  He 
has  lost  that  restless  fear  of  trouble  which  he  used  to 
have,  which  led  him  to  put  aside  everything  which  seemed 

(147) 


148  THE  HO L COMBES. 

to  threaten  it.  He  Las  learned  to  see  the  rod,  and  Him 
who  sends  it. 

Yes,  I  shall  always  think  of  that  dear  child  as  such 
a  blessing  to  me  in  her  life  and  death, — she  was  so  quaintly 
amusing  in  everything  she  said  and  did.  She  filled  up 
so  much  of  my  life  in  that  first  year  of  my  marriage,  and 
then  in  dying  she  brought  such  a  blessing  to  our  house- 
hold. Blessed  little  angel,  it  used  to  be  hard  to  see  why 
she  should  have  been  born,  just  to  suffer  and  die,  but  it 
is  easy  to  see  the  "why"  in  it  all  now. 

And  I  cannot  help  hoping  Mary  is  a  Christian  too, 
though  she  has  never  joined  any  church.  She  is  so  par- 
ticular about  her  religious  duties,  and  then  her  Sunday- 
school.  All  last  winter  how  she  used  to  go  down  all 
weathers  to  teach  the  servants !  I  do  not  think  she  could 
be  so  self-denying  and  exemplary  were  it  not  that  she 
has  some  religious  principle  in  her  heart.  God  grant 
that  it  may  be  so. 

I  think  John  has  improved  very  much  too ;  he  is  cer- 
tainly a  fine,  brave  boy,  with  a  great  many  faults,  but  so 
many  good  qualities.  I  can  hardly  realize  that  he  is  the 
same  child  that  met  me  at  the  depot  the  happy  old  day 
I  first  came  to  Rose  Hill,  or  that  cut  down  the  pear-tree, 
to  be  like  George  Washington.  This  last  is  still  a  stand- 
ing joke  against  him.  I  shall  always  think  Mr.  Williams 
did  John  a  great  deal  of  good.  I  am  glad  he  is  coming 
to  see  us  this  summer  ;  I  do  like  him  so  much.  He  al- 
ways seems  as  one  of  the  family,  being  here,  I  suppose, 
at  the  time  Lilias  was  taken  from  us,  and  feeling  so  much 
with  us.  Those  are  ties  one  never  breaks.  Death  breaks 
a  great  many,  but  makes  almost  as  many. 

The  idea  of  Margaret's  coming  home  a  young  lady 
this  summer !  It  seems  very  strange.  I  wish  I  was 
not  so  much  afraid  of  it ;  but  my  life  has  been  so  quiet 


JEAN'S  DIARY.  149 

since  she  has  been  at  school  that  I  fear  any  change. 
When  she  has  been  here  at  her  vacations  I  have  seen  but 
little  of  her.  It  seems  to  me,  however,  that  she  is  pretty 
much  the  same,  with  so  many  fine  qualities  and  so  many 
blemishes. 

"  In  thinking  over  all  which  has  taken  place  in  these 
past  three  years,  1  feel  as  if  there  had  been  more  crowded 
into  them  than  into  the  whole  of  my  past  life:  my  mar- 
riage, my  introduction  to  my  home,  that  delightful  Christ- 
mas, our  precious  baby's  death,  so  soon  followed  by  my 
father's,  my  darling's  birth,  Robert's  promise  to  visit  me, 
upon  which  I  am  living  now,  and  the  blessed  change  in 
my  husband.  I  feel  as  if  I  must  say,  "  How  shall  I  mag- 
nify the  Lord  for  all  his  goodness  to  me?" 

It  has  been  a  blessing,  too,  that  baby  has  always 
been  so  good.  He  has  never  been  sick  a  day  since  his 
birth,  and  consequently  so  little  trouble,  though,  I  sup- 
pose, if  I  did  not  have  dear  old  Mammy  to  help  me,  I 
would  find  the  difference.  But  I  can  just  pack  him  off 
to  her  cabin,  and  I  know  he  will  be  taken  such  good 
care  of.  Dear  old  lady  !  she  is  not  often  able  to  come 
up  to  the  house  now,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  could  never  do 
enough  for  her.  I  trust  God  will  spare  her  for  many 
years  to  come.  I  do  not  know  what  any  of  us  would  do 
without  her ;  but  she  is  getting  so  feeble  I  feel  very 
uneasy  about  her. 


13* 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

AN   IMPORTANT    ARRIVAL. 

IT  was  on  a  warm  morning  in  July  when  the  air,  seem- 
ingly languid  from  the  intensity  of  the  heat,  refused  to 
stir  even  the  leaves  upon  the  trees.  A  strange  lull 
rested  upon  nature.  The  oak-tree  overshadowing  Mar- 
garet's grotto  might  have  been  painted  on  canvas,  for 
all  the  motion  it  showed.  The  ivy  has  clambered  and 
climbed  until  the  outside  of  the  rocks  is  one  mass  of 
dark,  green  leaves ;  and  the  resistless  fingers  are  putting 
their  fibery  touch  on  the  old  tree,  which,  strong  as  it 
looks,  has  no  power  to  resist  its  soft  and  gradual  encroach- 
ment. 

Beneath  the  green  roof  upon  the  grassy  carpet  stands 
a  young  girl.  The  first  glance  shows  us  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. It  is  Margaret  Holcombe  !  But  the  old  longing 
is  satisfied  :  "  the  ugly  duck  has  become  a  swan  ;"  so 
changed,  and  yet  the  same  1  There  is  the  same  lithe 
figure,  but  now  so  magnificently  proportioned,  from  the 
falling  shoulders  and  rounded  waist  to  the  arched  instep 
of  the  slender  foot ;  tall,  above  the  ordinary  height  of 
woman;  the  flowing  robe  of  the  softest  white  muslin 
falls  in  waving  lines  from  the  waist,  and  disposes  its 
superfluous  length  upon  the  ground,  while  the  white  arm 
and  neck  show  purely  through  the  thin  texture. 

The  face  is  less  changed  than  the  figure  ;  there  are  the 
same  irregular  features.  But  what  matters  the  wide 
mouth  when  the  lips  are  full  and  rosy,  which  at  each 
(150) 


AN  IMPORTANT  ARRIVAL.  151 

motion  disclose  glimpses  of  the  perfect  teeth  ?  Even  the 
forehead,  much  too  low  for  perfect  beauty,  is  redeemed 
by  the  elevated  coronet  of  raven  hair  which  rears  itself 
above  it.  The  sallow  complexion  has  given  place  to 
blood  of  the  richest  hue, — a  complexion  coming  and 
going  with  every  variation  of  feeling,  like  the  shifting 
hues  of  the  sky,  no  minute  the  same. 

Beautiful!  high-born!  accomplished!  and  wealthy ! — 
what  more  can  be  asked  for?  Yet,  what  means  the  dis- 
satisfied expression  about  the  mouth  ?  The  old  longing 
has  been  gratified  only  to  give  place  to  another.  She  has 
not  found  happiness  yet.  She  would  have  deeply  re- 
sented it,  if  any  one  had  told  her  that  it  was  dissatisfac- 
tion with  herself  which  gathered  the  brow  together  in  a 
wrinkle,  which  so  often  made  her  shun  society  and  seek 
solitude. 

I  said  she  was  standing  at  the  opening  of  her  grotto, 
with  the  green  branches  above  her  head,  the  green  carpet 
beneath  her  feet,  and  the  old  gray  rocks  in  the  back- 
ground. She  had  risen  at  the  sound  of  a  footstep, — a 
gentleman — a  stranger — advanced  towards  her,  hat  in 
hand.  There  was  something  in  Margaret  Holcombe's 
appearance  which  would  take  the  hat  off  of  any  man's 
head,  be  he  gentleman  or  boor.  But  this  was  a  gentle- 
man without  mistake,  in  spite  of  the  travel-worn  appear- 
ance of  the  whole  person,  the  dusty  clothes,  the  heavy 
boots. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,  but  am  I  in  the  road  to  Mr. 
Holcombe's  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  the  house  is  but  a  step  from  here.  I  am 
just  returning;  I  will  show  you  the  way." 

The  shrewd  eye  turned  upon  her,  —  consciousness 
brought  the  blood  to  her  cheek. 

"  You  are  Miss  Holcombe,  I  suppose  ?" 


152  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

The  haughty  head  scarce  nodded  an  assent.  He  felt 
that  he  had  taken  a  liberty,  and  hastened  to  apologize. 

"  Pardon  me  ;  but  I  cannot  feel  that  you  are  a  stranger. 
I  have  heard  so  often,  through  ray  sister,  of  you." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  Some  one  of  her  school-mates  she 
supposed. 

But  here  they  came  in  sight  of  the  house ;  and  the 
exclamations  of  admiration  of  the  scene  prevented  all 
other  conversation  until  they  reached  the  door! 

"  Walk  in,"  said  Margaret.     "  Shall  I  call  papa  ?" 

But  before  an  answer  could  be  given,  a  cry  "  Robert ! 
Robert !"  broke  upon  them,  and  Jean  was  locked  in  her 
brother's  arms. 

No  thirsty  traveler  at  the  sight  of  a  stream  of  water, 
no  starving  man  at  the  sight  of  a  feast,  could  have  felt 
more  satisfying  happiness  than  did  this  sister  at  the  sight 
of  her  long-wished-for  brother.  It  was  the  moment  so 
ardently  looked  for,  and  the  fruition  was  so  full.  Mr. 
Holcombe  soon  came  in,  and  gave  his  glad  welcome  to 
the  traveler;  then  Mary  and  John,  all  rejoicing  with 
"mamma;"  next  the  wee  toddling  boy — Master  Ned, 
Junior,  claimed  acquaintance  with  his  new  uncle. 

"  Well,  Jean,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe,  "  are  you  going  to 
keep  Robert  here  all  day  ?  Let  him  wash  his  face,  at  any 
rate.  We  won't  let  him  leave  us  for  a  long  time  now 
we  have  him,  so  you  will  have  time  enough  to  sec  him. 
Ah,  Robert,  she  will  '  kill  the  fatted  calf  now !" 

"  I  am  no  prodigal  son,  though,  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand," said  Robert,  as  he  got  up  to  go  to  his  room. 

"Well,  it  don't  make  any  difference,"  said  Mr.  Hol- 
combe; "we  like  you  just  as  much  as  if  you  were." 

Margaret  was  completely  taken  by  surprise.  She  had 
never  even  heard  of  Jean's  brother;  but  she  could  not 
help  sympathizing  deeply  with  them  both.  And  when 


AN  IMPORTANT  ARRIVAL.  153 

Robert  turned  towards  his  fair  guide  in  leaving  the 
room,  her  eyes  were  moist  and  her  face  radiant  with 
feeling. 

There  was  so  much  for  the  brother  and  sister  to  talk 
about  that  they  were 'not  seen  again  until  dinner-time. 
Mary  took  the  keys,  and  insisted  that  there  was  no 
necessity  for  Jean  going  down-stairs  at  all, — nor  was 
there.  The  servants  were  too  anxious  to  do  everything 
for  the  newcomer,  and  the  young  housekeeper  felt  her 
responsibility  too  deeply  to  go  wrong. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  library  sat  Mr.  Murray  and  Jean 
Holcombe.  He  occupied  an  easy-chair,  and  she  sat  at 
his  feet  looking  up  and  listening  to  him.  As  they  sit 
there,  we  are  struck  with  the  contrast  between  the  two. 
He  being  as  far  above  the  average  height  of  man  as  she 
was  below  the  ordinary  height  of  woman.  They  were  both 
Saxon,  in  their  fair  complexion  and  light  hair ;  but  he 
might  have  been  one  of  those  old  conquerors  of  the  Britons 
who  lived  before  men  were  dwarfed  and  stunted  by 
wealth  and  luxury.  No  one  would  ever  have  thought 
of  calling  him  handsome ;  indeed,  his  face  would  have 
been  pronounced  homely  but  for  the  strength  in  it. 
There  was  a  powerful  irregularity  in  every  lineament, 
and  I  believe  nature  is  apt  so  to  assert  herself  as  the 
towering  mountain  with  its  frowning  cliffs,  "  where  the 
clouds  stop  to  repose  themselves  in  passing  by,"  its 
turbulent  streams  and  rocky  crags  convey  an  idea  of 
strength  so  much  greater  than  the  smiling  plain,  where 
the  glassy  stream  glides  so  quietly. 

So  in  man, — strength  of  character  and  strength  of  mind 
is  apt  to  show  itself  in  strongly-marked,  irregular  features. 

Robert  Murray  looked  every  day  of  his  nine-and- 
twenty  years:  he  had  not  led  a  life  of  luxurious  ease. 
After  Jean  left  England,  he  too  found  it  impossible  to 


154  THE  HOLCOMBES, 

remain,  though  he  had  never,  so  long  as  his  father  lived, 
called  any  other  spot  home ;  but  after  he  grew  to  man- 
hood his  love  of  change  and  adventure  led  him  far  away 
from  the  scenes  of  his  childhood. 

He  studied  for  two  years  in  the  universities  of  Ger- 
many :  dipping  deeply  into  their  metaphysical  investi- 
gations and  mythical  theories,  he  became  tainted  with 
skepticism,  if  not  infidelity;  leaving  there,  with  mind 
and  heart  bewildered,  he  determined  to  travel  on  foot 
through  Switzerland  and  Italy,  and  by  constant  contact 
with  nature  strive  to  throw  off  the  apathy  which  pos- 
sessed him  after  his  years  of  hard  study.  He  stood  by 
the  Lake  of  Como,  but  its  peaceful  quiet  had  not  the 
charm  for  him  which  more  rugged  scenes  possessed, — his 
home  was  among  the  Cheviot  Hills,  and  all  of  his  tastes 
were  for  mountain  scenery.  So  he  determined  to  follow 
in  the  footsteps  of  two  of  the  greatest  generals  of  history, 
and  cross  the  Alps,  taking  his  first  glimpse  of  the  fair 
plains  of  Italy  from  its  summit, — this  he  did.  And  as 
he  stood  on  the  rocky  boulder,  which  is  all  that  remains 
of  the  wonderful  bridge  which  Hannibal  built,  with  the 
turbulent  stream  dashing  with  mad  fury  at  his  feet,  and 
defying  the  touch  of  man,  while  the  chasm  above  his 
head  was  spanned  by  the  wonderful  skill  of  the  great 
Napoleon ;  here,  in  the  presence  of  this  greatest  work 
of  art,  and  with  nature  in  her  unequaled  strength  all 
around  him,  how  puny  did  man  seem !  And  there  it  seemed 
to  him  that  the  God  of  nature  showed  himself  to  him  in 
all  his  power,  causing  him  in  the  humility  of  his  soul  to 
exclaim,  "What  is  man  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him, 
and  the  son  of  man  that  Thou  visiteth  him  !" 

It  was  this  life  which  had  given  such  vigor  to  his 
frame,  and  it  was  this  view  of  God  in  his  works  of  nature 
and  providence  which  had  given  strength  to  his  soul. 


AN  IMPORTANT  ARRIVAL.  155 

But  as  he  sat  there  in  that  pleasant  room,  with  its  shady, 
green  blinds,  against  which  the  waving  boughs  outside 
cast  their  shadows,  with  that  confiding  face  looking  into 
his,  and  the  old  familiar  touch  of  her  arm  resting  on  his 
knee,  he  was  nothing  but  a  boy  after  all, — they  were 
living  over  their  past  together. 

"  And,  Robert,"  said  Jean,  "  tell  me  of  my  father  again. 
Did  he  seem  to  want  to  see  me  very  much?" 

"  Of  course  he  did,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  think  if  he 
had  lived  much  longer,  in  spite  of  the  madam,  he  would 
have  made  a  pilgrimage  to  your  shrine  with  me." 

Jean's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  And  was  he  happy, 
Robert?" 

"Oh,  yes;  she  was  always  good  to  him,  loved  him 
indeed.  It  was  that  very  feeling  which  made  her  dislike 
us,  she  could  not  bear  that  anything  should  come  be- 
tween them,  not  even  his  children  ;  she  nursed  him  very 
faithfully,  and  I  never  saw  greater  grief  than  hers  at  his 
death.  I  forgave  her  everything  then." 

"Yes,"  said  Jean,  "  and  so  do  I  from  my  heart, — it  is 
so  much  easier  to  forgive  everything  with  you  by  my 
side,  Robert, — it  has  been  such  a  sore  trial  to  be  separated 
from  you." 

"  I  know  it,  dear,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  her 
head;  "  but  you  have  certainly  had  a  great  deal  to  com- 
fort you.  I  never  saw  a  more  interesting  family — from 
Ned,  Senior,  to  Ned,  Junior." 

"  Yes ;  I  think  so,  too  ;  you  met  Margaret  at  the  grotto 
in  the  grove,  did  you  not?  I  hope  she  was  kind." 

He  laughed.  "  0-h,  yes;  but  I  see  you  think  there  was 
cause  for  apprehension  ;  well,  we  can  pardon  her  queening 
it  a  little,  it  suits  her  so  well.  She  is  the  most  regal- 
looking  woman  I  ever  saw ;  but  I  should  think  she 
would  blot  you  out  entirely,  my  small  sister." 


156  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"  Oh,  she  does ;  though  she  tolerates  me  now, — at  first 
it  was  dreadful ;  but  she  is  a  girl  of  warm  feelings  and 
generous  impulses.  I  have  seen  her  tried  more  than  once." 

"  Well,  I  hope  so.  I  confess  my  taste  lies  in  another 
line  from  her,  though  I  love  to  look  at  her;  she  has  the 
finest  face  I  ever  saw.  I  should  think  she  would  excite 
a  good  deal  of  admiration." 

"  You  know,"  said  Jean,  "  she  is  just  from  school, — has 
not  been  home  more  than  a  few  days.  I  have  no  doubt 
she  will,  she  is  very  intellectual." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "that  is  of  very  small 
value;  she  is  very  beautiful,  that  is  her  strongest  point." 

"  I  don't  think  she  is,  Robert ;  she  has  but  two  good 
features, — her  eyes  and  nose." 

"  Which  leaves  mouth  and  brow  ;  but  I  am  not  at  all 
disposed  to  criticise  :  I  have  not  seen  enough  of  her  for 
that;  but  I  am  artist  enough  to  see  that  she  is  un- 
doubtedly a  beautiful  woman." 

"  I  don't  think  she  cares  for  admiration  at  all." 

"  Don't  she  ?  Well,  Jean,  I  would  be  willing  to  lay  a 
wager  that  when  she  once  sees  her  power  she  will  be  as 
insatiable  as  Alexander  or  Nero,  who  wished  all  Rome 
had  one  neck  that  he  might  be  saved  the  trouble  of  kill- 
ing them  by  piecemeal." 

"  I  think  you  do  her  injustice,  Robert.  She  is  not  the 
kind  of  girl  to  enjoy  those  things." 

"My  dear  sister,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "it  may  seem  like 
vanity  on  my  part,  but  actually  I  believe  I  know  your 
sex  better  than  you  do." 

"  That  may  well  be,"  said  Jean,  laughing.  "  I  know 
myself,  and  a  few  others,  and  there  it  ends.  Your 
acquaintance  is  more  extensive." 

"  Yes ;  and  I  have  never  met  with  more  than  one  or 
two  women,  who  possessed  beauty,  who  would  not  use 
it  as  a  weapon  of  offense  and  defense ;  and  if  I  am  any 


AN  IMPORTANT  ARRIVAL.  157 

judge  at  all,  this  fair  daughter  of  your  husband's  is  a 
genuine  daughter  of  Eve." 

"Have  you  two  people  talked  yourselves  out  yet?" 
said  Mr.  Holcorabe,  entering  with  Eddy  in  his  arms.  "  I 
have  exercised  the  greatest  self-denial  in  keeping  out  of 
here  all  the  morning,  because  I  was  not  wanted.  This 
wife  of  mine,  Robert,  has  behaved  herself  so  well  in  all 
these  years  that  I  am  glad  she  is  rewarded  at  last  by  a 
sight  of  you." 

"  I  didn't  know  where  you  were,"  said  Jean ;  "  we 
wanted  you  here  with  us." 

"No,  I  know  your  deceitful  ways,  and  that  you  would 
pretend  to  want  me,  so  I  made  for  the  woods  ;  and  came 
back  just  now  to  find  this  boy  crying,  as  if  he  thought  he 
was  an  orphan." 

"I  think  you  must  have  taken  good  care  of  this  sister 
of  mine,  sir.  She  certainly  looks  very  well  and  young." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  we  don't  grow  old  up  in  these  mountains  ; 
and  besides,  I  think  Jean  has  the  gift  of  perpetual  youth." 

Mr.  Holcombe  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  party,  and  Eddy 
took  an  early  opportunity  of  transferring  himself  to  his 
mother's  knees,  from  which  position  of  security  he  was 
gazing  at  his  new  uncle  with  that  wide-awake  expression 
which  babies  assume  on  first  meeting  a  stranger. 

Mr.  Murray  tried  all  sorts  of  blandishments  and  bribes 
to  induce  him  to  come  to  him ;  but  the  big  gold  watch 
and  the  enticing  smile  were  equally  inefficacious.  He 
clung  more  closely  to  his  mother  at  every  attempt  to 
entice  him  from  the  familiar  resting-place. 

"  You  will  have  to  wait  awhile,  Uncle  Robert,"  said 
Jean  ;  "  Master  Eddy  is  rather  shy ;  but  when  he  once 
gets  acquainted  he  will  be  sociable  enough,  I  promise  you. 
But  here  is  Robin  come  to  announce  dinner."  And  they 
all  adjourned  to  the  dining-room. 

14 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE   FAMILY   CIRCLE. 

FOR  some  weeks  after  the  events  narrated  in  my  last 
chapter,  the  usual  quiet  life  at  Rose  Hill  was  exchanged 
for  gayeties  of  various  kinds.  In  the  first  place,  the 

whole  neighborhood,  including  the  town  of  C ,  turned 

out  to  acknowledge  the  debut  of  Miss  Holcombe.  It  was 
so  long  since  there  had  been  a  grown  daughter  in  the 
family  ;  and  the  former  reputation  of  the  place  as  a  gay 
rendezvous  excited  to  an  extravagant  pitch  the  expecta- 
tions of  the  younger  part  of  the  community,  who  were 
full  of  anticipations  of  a  renewal  of  the  "good  old  times" 
they  had  heard  their  parents  talk  so  much  about  at  Rose 
Hill. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Murray  and  Margaret,  notwithstand- 
ing his  uncomplimentary  views  of  her  character  on  the 
first  day  of  his  arrival  at  Rose  Hill,  progressed  rapidly 
towards  a  friendship.  She  could  not  help  admiring  his 
magnificent  physique,  and  the  wonderful  completeness  of 
the  entire  man, — strength  of  body,  mind,  and  will  char- 
acterizing all  of  his  actions;  even  his  voice  contributed 
to  the  impression :  every  tone  was  a  deep  bass-note  full 
of  music.  It  was  one  evening  that  Margaret  sauntered 
into  the  parlor  in  the  twilight,  and  finding  the  room 
deserted,  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  and  commenced 
singing  that  air  which  seems  never  to  grow  old,  or  if  it 
does,  ever  retains  all  the  sweetness  of  its  earliest  youth, — 
"Bonnie  Annie  Laurie."  Her  voice  was  plaintive,  and, 
(158) 


THE  FAMILY  CIRCLE.  159 

at  the  same  time,  powerful ;  but  on  this  evening  she  was 
singing  for  herself  aloue ;  the  tones  were  subdued  and 
soft  as  a  nightingale's,  and  her  thoughts  floated  away  on 
the  wings  of  her  own  music  to  her  school-days, — the  old 
play-room  where  they  used  to  meet  in  the  evening  to  join 
in  the  merry  dance  or  the  gay  romp,  and  where  she  so 
often  acted  as  the  musician  for  the  others.  How  often 
she  had  sung  "  Annie  Laurie"  for  that  simple  little  audi- 
ence !  Well,  those  times  were  past,  never  to  return,  nor, 
with  all  her  pleasant  recollections  of  them,  did  she  wish 
it.  She  was  very  happy  now;  and  felt,  too,  that  her  life 
was  untying  the  tangled  skein  of  her  character,  that, 
after  awhile,  the  thread  would  run  smoothly  and  evenly. 
Suddenly  she  became  half  conscious  of  a  step  in  the 
room ;  but  before  she  could  turn  around  a  tone  like  the 
deep  notes  of  an  organ  accompanied  her  voice. 

"And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I'd  lay  me  down  and  dee." 

She  knew  it  could  belong  but  to  one  person  in  the 
world,  and  that  one.  was  Robert  Murray.  It  was  no 
longer  a  low  warble  which  her  voice  sent  forth  :  lifted  up 
and  carried  on  by  the  strong  swelling  wave  of  those 
magnificent  tones,  hers  gave  forth  their  full  power,  and 
the  whole  house  was  filled  with  the  delicious  harmony. 
The  pleasant  discovery  of  the  mutual  accomplishment  was 
a  surprise  to  them  both,  and  after  that  it  became  a  regular 
habit  to  practice  together,  generally  in  the  twilight,  or 
after  tea,  while  the  rest  of  the  family  sat  together  on  the 
long  portico,  where  the  moon  shone  brightest,  and  caught 
the  delicious  strains  through  the  open  doors  and  windows. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  amusement  they  enjoyed  together : 
there  were  long  rides  on  horseback.  She  took  him  to  see 
all  the  fine  views  in  the  neighborhood,  and  received  in 


. 


160  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

return  his  graphic  pictures  of  scenes  in  Switzerland  and 
Italy. 

This  was  probably  the  happiest  time  of  Margaret  Hoi- 
combe's  life  ;  her  face  lost  the  restless  look  of  dissatisfac- 
tion, and  the  family  looked  on  with  surprise  at  her  happy 
gayety  ;  her  temper  lost  its  irritability,  and  she  seemed 
to  be  returning  to  the  demonstrative  impulse  of  her  early 
childhood.  Mr.  Holcombe  looked  at  her  with  delight, 
and  all  his  fears  for  her  melted  away,  —  she  was  develop- 
ing so  beautifully,  —  her  rich  gifts  and  sparkling  qualities 
combining  to  form  a  rare  character. 

Jean  had  taken  her  brother  to  call  on  Mammy  as  soon 
as  he  arrived.  And  although  he  did  not  feel  sure  that  he 
would  ever  get  used  to  the  constant  presence  of  this 
"  queer"  people,  he  became  much  interested  in  their  sim- 
ple lives,  and  happy  ignorance  of  anything  beyond  what 
those  lives  contained. 

Mary  came  in  one  day  very  much  amused  from  a  visit 
to  Mammy,  and  informed  Mr.  Murray  that  Mammy  pro- 
nounced him  "A  fine  well-growed  young  man." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  her,"  said  he,  laughing.  "Tell 
her  that  I  am  a  mere  baby  in  my  own  country.  We  be- 
long to  the  Brobdignags." 

"I  shall  take  care  not  to  tell  her  that,"  said  Mary,  "as 
I  shall  have  to  explain  what  Brobdignags  are." 

"And  you  can't  do  it,  hey?"  said  Mr.  Murray. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course  I  know,"  said  she,  indignantly; 
"  but  as  to  going  through  Gulliver's  Travels  for  Mammy's 
benefit,  I  could  not  think  of  it.  I  never  could  under- 
stand, anyhow,  why  such  absurd  stories  should  be  so 
highly  thought  of." 

"No.  I  don't  suppose  you  have  ever  taken  the  satiri- 
cal view  of  the  book." 

"  The  satirical  view  ?"  said  she,  inquiringly. 


THE  FAMILY  CIRCLE.  161 

"Yes,  it  is  intended  as  a  great  satire  upon  pigmies 
who  think  themselves  the  head  of  civilization  and  every- 
thing else,  and  big  men  who  have  nothing  but  their  big- 
ness to  recommend  thpm." 

Mary  did  not  look  as  if  she  quite  understood  yet,  but 
would  not  ask  any  more  questions. 

Mr.  Murray  was  in  that  favorite  sitting-room  of  the 
family,  the  library,  and  had  been  reading  occasional  items 
from  the  "  Baltimore  Sun"  for  the  edification  of  Jean  and 
Margie,  who  sat  at  the  window  engaged  in  some  bits  of 
feminine  work.  Margaret's  consisted  of  bright-colored 
worsteds,  as  fresh  looking  as  the  pretty  morning  toilet 
she  presented,  while  Jean's  was  a  dress  for  Eddy. 

"I  do  think,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "that  a  larger  number 
of  literary  outrages  are  perpetrated  over  the  dead  than 
in  any  other  way.  I  have  read  this  paper  now  every  day 
since  I  came  to  this  country,  and  I  have  not  seen  more 
than  one  or  two  copies  which  has  not  been  adorned  with 
such  twaddle  as  this  : 

'  Dearest  Lizzie,  thou  hast  left  us, 

We  thy  loss  most  deeply  feel, 
But  'tis  God  who  has  bereft  us, 

He  can  all  our  sorrows  heal.'" 

« 

"Why,  that  is  one  of  their  best,"  said  Margaret,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  we  can  stand  it  once,"  said  Mr.  Murray  ;  "  but  to 
have  it  repeated  every  day  is  more  than  human  nature 
can  endure." 

"It  is  easy  enough  not  to  read  it,  ^1  should  think," 
said  Jean,  laughing. 

"  Not  so  easy  as  you  think.  There  is  a  fascination 
which  draws  my  eyes  back,  in  spite  of  myself." 

"  Talking  of  obituaries,"  said  Margaret,  "  reminds  me 
of  a  tombstone  over  a  grave  near  Woodbine,  where  I 
went  to  school.  The  verse  on  the  stone  was  this  : 

14* 


162  THE  1IOLCOMBES. 

'  Come,  blooming  youth,  as  you  pass  by, 
Pray  on  these  lines  do  cast  an  eye ; 
For  once  I  bloomed  as  well  as  thee, 
Prepare  for  death  and  follow  me.' 

One  of  the  girls  wrote  below  it, — 

'To  follow  you  I'll  not  consent, 
Until  I  learn  which  road  you  went.' " 

"  But,"  said  Mary,  "  I  don't  think  that  is  as  funny  as — 

'Here  lies  Jane  Bent, 

Who  kicked  up  her  heels  and  away  she  went.' " 

"I  remember,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  when  the  laugh  had 
subsided  a  little  over  the  unfortunate  Jane's  epitaph, 
"  hearing  of  an  amusing  story  a  long  time  ago.  There 
was  a  death  in  a  little  town  in  Germany  of  a  composer 
of  music,  and  his  disconsolate  widow  erected  a  monu- 
ment to  his  memory  and  put,  as  the  inscription,  upon  it, 
'  He  has  gone  where  alone  his  works  are  excelled.'  A 
very  pretty  tribute  every  one  said,  and  the  simplicity  as 
well  as  the  beauty  of  the  thought  was  somewhat  talked 
about.  About  this  time  a  maker  of  brimstone-matches 
died,  and  his  ambitious  widow,  not  to  be  outdone,  also 
erected  a  monument  with  the  inscription,  '  He  has  gone 
where  alone  his  works  are  excelled.'  " 

"  Here  is  my  contribution  to  these  valuable  literary 
collections,"  said  Jean,  producing  a  slip  of  paper  from 
her  work-box.  "  I  tore  it  out  of  a  newspaper  the  other 
day:  'To  the  memory  of  Sarah,  youngest  daughter  of 
John  and  Ellen  Smith,  aged  six  months  and  one  day. 

"  '  Sweet  baby,  'twas  hard  to  give  thee  up  and  see  thee 
die,  though  your  angel-face  I  never  beheld  till  hidden 
'neath  the  coffin-lid. 

"  '  We  have  laid  you  at  the  foot  of  thy  sweet  little 
brother,  who  lies  there  a  sleeping  six  years  ago.  My 


THE  FAMILY    CIRCLE.  163 

word  is  to  the  parents  and  all  the  friends :  Prepare  to 
meet  thy  God.'" 

"  This  is  really  making  light  of  a  GRAVE  subject,"  said 
Mr.  Murray ;  "  but  it  is  very  amusing  to  go  through  some 
of  those  old  graveyards  in  England.  Some  of  the  mon- 
uments give  a  regular  history  of  the  survivors.  I  re- 
member one  in  Cambridge,  erected  to  the  memory  of 
some  earl  or  other — I  have  forgotten  his  name — who 
died  worth,  the  inscription  goes  on  to  say,  '£100,000. 

His  daughter  married  Lord ,  whose  fortune  amounts 

to  £50,000.'  And  then  another,  which  marked  the  rest- 
ing-place of  a  tallow-chandler,  and  stated,  for  the  benefit 
of  all  who  wanted  to  know,  that  his  widow  carried  on 
his  business  at  his  old  stand,  mentioning  the  address." 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Margaret,  "when  I  die  I  want 
anything  put  over  me,  because  I  don't  like  the  idea  of 
people,  a  hundred  years  hence,  laughing  over  the  inscrip- 
tion on  my  grave  ;  and  times  change  so  that  what  would 
seem  perfectly  proper  now  may  be  very  absurd  to  them." 

"  Well,"  said  Mary,  "  Margie,  I  don't  think  it  is  worth 
while  for  you  to  make  your  final  arrangements  yet ;  but  we 
will  try  and  be  as  brief  as  possible  with  your  inscription, 
though  I  don't  care  a  cent  about  a  hundred  years  hence. 
If  I  can  afford  any  amusement  to  my  great-great-grand- 
children, I  am  unselfish  enough  to  be  very  glad." 

"  Does  it  never  occur  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "  to 
remember  of  how  really  little  importance  the  body  is  ?  I 
have  just  been  looking  at  you  two  as  you  sit  here  talk- 
ing so  calmly  about  '  a  hundred  years  hence,'  and  looking 
all  the  time  so  blooming  that  it  is  hard  to  connect  the 
idea  of  death  with  you.  Of  how  much  more  importance 
does  it  become  us  to  inquire  where  our  souls  will  be  '  a 
hundred  years  hence.' ': 

This  was  giving  a  more  serious  turn  to  the  subject  than 


164  THE  FAMILY   CIRCLE. 

any  of  them  had  expected ;  and  Margaret  looked  up  in 
surprise.  She  had  never  thought  of  Mr.  Murray  as  a 
Christian;  she  liked  him  as  an  agreeable,  intelligent 
man ;  but  this  was  a  new  view  of  him,  and  one  she  did 
not  altogether  like,  as  it  seemed  to  place  a  barrier  to  their 
friendship;  and  then,  too,  she  said  to  herself,  "I  shall 
always  be  afraid  that  he  is  going  to  take  me  up  HI  this 
way."  She  said,  in  her  petulant,  restive  way,  "  Mr.  Murray, 
I  am  disappointed  to  find  you  are  that  kind  of  person." 

"  What  kind  of  person  is  that,  Miss  Holcombe  ?"  said 
he,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  well,  to  force  that  subject  into  every  conversation 
and  talk  at  people,  it  throws  a  damper  over  every  gath- 
ering. Now  we  were  having  such  a  pleasant  time,  and 
you  come  with  your  uncomfortable  suggestions,  and 
there  is  an  end  of  it." 

"  Would  it  not  be  better,  Miss  Holcombe,"  he  answered, 
"if  we  so  arranged  matters  as  not  to  find  these  subjects 
'uncomfortable'?  They  certainly  ought  not  to  be  ex- 
cluded from  conversation,  particularly  when  the  tenor  of 
the  conversation  leads  so  naturally  to  it  as  it  did  to-day." 

"  1  don't  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Murray  ;  we  were  in 
the  midst  of  a  conversation  on  amusing  epitaphs." 

"  Yes,  and  you  began  to  talk  about  the  disposition  you 
wished  made  of  your  body.  What  more  natural  than 
for  me  to  speak  of  the  disposition  to  be  made  of  the  soul, 
so  far  more  interesting,  more  important?" 

His  manner  was  so  earnest  and  even  tender  that  Mar- 
garet was  subdued  by  it ;  and  she  made  no  reply,  but  bent 
down  lower  over  her  work.  Ho  went  on, — 

"  You  will  excuse  me  for  saying  so ;  but  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  your  very  sensitiveness  on  the  subject 
shows  that  it  is  one  which  often  intrudes  itself  upon  you 
in  spite  of  yourself." 


THE  FAMILY  CIRCLE.  165 

"Of  course,"  she  answered.  "I  suppose  everybody 
thinks  of  those  things  sometimes." 

"Woe  to  those  who  never  do  !"  he  said.  "To  be  let 
alone  of  God  is  the  greatest  curse  which  can  befall  man. 
God  forbid  that  it  should  ever  be  said  of  any  of  us — 
'  Ephraim  is  joined  to  his  idols,  let  him  alone.'  " 

"Mr.  Murray,"  said  Mary,  "why  don't  you  study  for 
the  ministry  ?  I  should  think  you  would  make  a  splendid 
pi-eacher." 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  should  certainly 
feel  highly  honored  to  be  permitted  to  preach  the  gospel. 
Maybe  I  will  some  of  these  days."  And  so  the  conver- 
sation ended. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


PREPARATIONS   FOR   A   FEAST. 

"  PAPA,"  said  Margaret  Holcombe,  going  into  his  study 
one  day,  about  the  beginning  of  August,  "  I  want  to  give 
an  entertainment." 

Mr.  Holcombe  put  aside  his  book,  and,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, looked  anything  but  pleased  at  the  prospect. 

"  Now,  papa,"  she  continued,  answering  his  look,  for 
he  had  not  uttered  a  word,  "I  know  when  you  were 
young  you  used  to  like  to  go  out  and  have  company  too ; 
and  grandma  gave  splendid  parties, — Aunt  Mary  has 
told  me  of  them.  And  now  I  am  the  only  young  lady, 
and  your  first  grown  daughter.  You  ought  to  want  to 
launch  me  into  society  with  eclat." 

"Indeed,  my  child,"  he  said  gravely,  "I  have  higher 
aspirations  than  that  for  you.  I  do  not  know  that  launch- 
ing you  into  society  is  by  any  means  the  best  thing  for 
you." 

"Papa,"  she  said,  "I  don't  believe  any  one  ever  be- 
came a  Christian  by  having  those  subjects  hurled  at  their 
heads  all  of  the  time.  I  just  learn  to  think  of  religion 
as  a  something  which  is  to  interfere  with  every  pleasure 
I  have.  It  is  very  well  for  you,  who  have  had  your  day, 
to  be  willing  to  give  up  everything  now ;  but  I  have  a 
right  to  some  enjoyment,  and  it  is  hard  to  have  it  all 
spoiled  for  me." 

"  Why,  my  daughter,  this  is  a  very  unnecessary  tirade 
you  are  giving.  I  have  not  said  anything  about  interfer- 
(166) 


PREPARATIONS  FOR   A   FEAST.  167 

ing  with  your  pleasures.  On  the  contrary,  I  want  to  do 
everything  to  promote  them.  But  you  are  mistaken, 
Margie,  in  thinking  that  being  a  Christian  would  inter- 
fere with  any  solid  happiness.  It  would,  on  the  contrary, 
give  a  zest  to  all  rational  pleasures." 

"I  dare  say  ;  but  we  may  differ  about  what  you  call 
'  rational  pleasures,' "  said  Margaret.  "  I  think  a  party 
would  be  a  very  rational  pleasure." 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  anything  irrational  in  it.  I  will 
consult  Jean  about  it.  When  do  you  want  to  have  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  very  soon.  I  want  to  return  civilities.  Ellen 
Randolph  and  Mr.  Williams  come  next  week.  Suppose 
we  have  it  as  soon  after  that  as  possible." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe ;  "if  your  mamma 
chooses;  of  course  her  word  is  law  in  these  matters. "v 

She  did  not  resent  this  declaration,  as  she  would  have 
done  two  or  three  years  before.  She  had  happily  become 
accustomed  to  seeing  the  perfect  deference  he  showed  to 
his  wife's  opinion  in  everything.  Nor  did  she  object  to 
it.  Her  heart  had  long  ago  acknowledged  to  itself  its 
errors,  though  her  lips  had  not  been  equally  candid.  She 
always  felt  a  little  embarrassment,  engendered  by  a 
sense  of  having  committed  a  wrong ;  and  so  the  coldness 
had  never  worn  away.  Her  manner  formed  such  a  con- 
trast to  Mary's  that  it  made  her  seem  even  colder  than 
she  was  in  reality. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  Jean  had  no  serious 
opposition  to  make  to  the  plan,  though  at  first  she  insisted 
that  she  could  not  be  present,  as  her  mourning  dress, 
which  she  still  wore  for  her  father,  would  excuse  her 
presence.  But  Mr.  Holcombe  declared  that  unless  she 
would  herself  matronize  the  party  it  should  not  take  place. 
And  with  her  usual  forgetfulness  of  self  she  consented. 

Mr.  Holcombe  engaged  the  services  of  a  man  from  the 


168  THE  nOLCOMBES. 

city  to  come  up  to  Rose  Hill  and  superintend  the  arrange- 
ments ;  as  he  said,  if  he  "  gave  an  entertainment,  he  was 
determined  it  should  be  worthy  of  the  place ;  that  no  one 
of  the  older  guests  should  be  able  to  say,  '  But,  ah,  you 
should  just  have  seen  the  preparations  which  old  Mrs. 
Holcombe  used  to  make.'  " 

Mr.  Murray  proved  a  valuable  acquisition  at  this  time. 
He  remembered  seeing  an  illumination  in  Germany,  which 
suggested  some  ideas  to  him,  and  he  proposed  that  they 
should  illuminate  the  grounds  around  the  house.  All 
that  was  wanting  was  a  little  ingenuity,  and  he  thought 
he  could  supply  this. 

Mr.  Williams  and  Ellen  Randolph  arrived  early  in  the 
week,  and  the  library  was  given  up  to  the  "  Lantern  Com- 
mittee," as  they  named  themselves.  The  ladies  always 
came  supplied  with  their  work-boxes,  and  the  gentlemen 
with  knives, — while  Nannie,  now  promoted  to  the  posi- 
tion of  lady's-maid,  stood  at  a  table  and  did  the  pasting. 

With  the  help  of  a  few  paints  and  colored  tissue-paper 
they  managed  to  vary  the  hues  of  their  lanterns,  so  as  to 
make  a  pretty  variety. 

They  formed  them  into  various  shapes :  tulips,  lilies, 
bluebells  of  Scotland,  indeed,  any  flower  of  a  cup  shape; 
then  there  were  huge  heads  with  staring  eyes  and  grin- 
ning teeth,  and  even  rude  attempts  at  statuary ;  of  course 
there  was  many  a  failure  recorded,  which  excited  much 
merriment.  Mary  proved  the  most  efficient  assistant 
Mr.  Murray  had,  and  was  constantly  at  his  side,  improv- 
ing upon  his  suggestions,  or  in  her  turn  making  happy 
ones  for  new  devices,  until  he  declared  himself  completely 
thrown  into  the  shade  by  her  more  tasteful  efforts. 

Mr.  Williams  seemed  to  enjoy  his  return  to  Rose  Hill, 
and  declared  the  year  he  spent  there  to  have  been  the 
happiest  of  his  life. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  A   FEAST.  169 

"  I  think  Avhen  Master  Eddy  grows  large  enough  to 
learn  his  A.  B  C's/'  said  he,  one  day,  "  I  shall  petition 
to  come  back  and  be  permitted  to  try  pedagoging  a  little 
while  ;  that  is,  if  my  country  can  do  without  me  by  that 
time,  which  privately  I  doubt." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Margaret,  "that  like  Mr.  Weller 
you  find  it  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  so  'sought  arter?'" 

"  Well,  not  yet,  Miss  Hoi  combe,  not  yet ;  but  I  know 
my  merit  cannot  always  remain  unappreciated,  and  the 
time  must  come  soon,  when  I  will  be  rewarded  for  my 
long  waiting.  When  I  look  at  you  young  ladies,  though, 
and  think  that  I  had  a  hand  in  making  you  what  you  are, 
I  feel  that  teaching  must  be  my  forte." 

"I  should  not  think  you  would  remember  ine  with 
much  pleasure,  Mr.  Williams,"  said  Margaret,  blushing. 
"  I  certainly  was  the  most  disagreeable  child." 

"  That  is  most  too  strong,  Miss  Margaret,"  was  the 
answer ;  "  but  your  difficulty  was  in  not  being  a  child  at 
all." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Williams,"  said  Mary,  "  will  you  ever  forget 
the  day  Margie  rode  on  the  sapling,  and  you  saw  her  ? — 
it  was  too  funny." 

It  was  curious  to  see  how  Mr.  Williams  watched  her 
face  to  see  how  much  she  would  allow.  She  caught  his 
expression  and  laughed. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking,  Mr.  Williams ;  and  I 
don't  know  that  I  do  like  to  hear  of  that  adventure  even 
now ;  but  I  see  you  are  dying  to  give  your  account  of  it 
to  the  company,  so  I  sacrifice-  myself  on  the  altar  of 
friendship." 

Thus  encouraged,  he  gave  a  very  amusing  account  of 
the  adventure  in  the  woods, — and  ended  with, — 

"  I  tell  you  I  had  to  argue  my  case  powerfully  to  ob- 
tain pardon.  I  wish  I  may  ever  be  as  effective  before 

15 


170 


THE  IIOLCOMBES. 


the  judge  as  I  was  when  I  was  the  criminal,  ray  client 
will  be  fortunate." 

"If  you  have  truth  on  your  side,  as  you  had  then,  Mr. 
Williams,"  said  Margaret,  "you  will  be, — every  word 
you  told  me  was  true,  and  I  knew  it.  Oh,  how  I  did 
hate  myself  after  that!  I  think  I  used  to  have  the  most 
humiliating  views  of  myself  after  those  attacks  of  arro- 
gance. Actually,  I  have  been  afraid  to  go  to  bed  some- 
times because  I  had  to  meet  myself  face  to  face." 

Mr.  Murray  turned  around  on  her  in  surprise, — it  was 
a  new  view  of  this  proud-looking  girl.  He  said,  very 
quietly,— 

"  I  should  never  have  thought  of  you  with  such  expe- 
riences." 

"And  why?"  said  she,  quickly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know, — you  don't  look  like  it." 

Her  face  flushed,  and  she  answered,  hotly,  "I  am 
always  so  unfortunate  as  to  convey  the  idea  to  every  one 
of  being  utterly  wanting  in  humility." 

It  was  very  vexing  for  everybody  to  laugh,  but  very 
natural,  as  she  stood  there  with  the  implements  of  her 
work  in  hand,  and  that  proud  young  head  thrown  back. 

Mr.  Murray  comprehended  in  a  moment  her  sensitive- 
ness, and  said,  "  Well,  it  is  true,  Miss  Holcombe,  that 
I  never  saw  any  one  whose  appearance  and  manners  in- 
dicated less  of  the  quality  named,  and  yet  I  cannot  help 
believing  that  it  is  latent  in  you  somewhere." 

"  Latent  means  where  it  can't  be  seen,  don't  it,  Mr. 
Murray?"  said  John,  mischievously. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Murray  ;  "  unless  there  is  some  influ- 
ence brought  to  bear  which  will  cause  it  to  escape." 

"  Well,  we  will  hope  for  the  influence,"  said  John,  "  oil 
Margie's  account." 

It  showed  considerable  self-command  in  the  young  girl 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  A   FEAST.  171 

to  be  able  to  control  herself;  but  she  did,  though  her 
flushed  cheek  and  moist  eye  showed  it  required  an  effort, 
— to  change  the  subject  now  became  the  prime  object  of 
both  gentlemen. 

"  Ho\v  does  the  chess  come  on,  Miss  Margaret?"  said 
Mr.  Williams.  "I  bet  I  could  beat  you  now." 

"  I  expect  you  could,"  said  Margaret.  "  I  have  scarcely 
played  a  game  since  we  used  to  play  together." 

"  By-the-by,"  put  in  Mr.  Murray,  "I  met  with  a  curi- 
ous story  about  a  game  of  chess,  connected  with  an  old 
German  ruin  in  the  Black  Forest, — it  was  told  me  by  a 
German  countrywoman.  And  if  you  have  any  taste  for 
the  weird  and  horrible,  I  will  tell  it  to  you." 

There  was  a  general  clamor  for  the  story,  and  Mr. 
Murray  began : 

"  As  I  was  passing  through  the  forests  of  Germany  I 
come  upon  a  curious-looking  ruin  of  what  must  have 
been  a  large  building, — it  bore  the  marks  of  having  been 
destroyed  by  fire, — and  the  wild,  desolate  appearance  of 
the  surroundings  excited  my  curiosity  to  know  its  history. 
I  stopped  for  the  night  at  a  tavern,  only  a  few  miles  off, 
and  finding  my  landlady  very  talkative,  I  asked  for  some 
information  relative  to  it. 

"  I  saw  at  once  that  I  had  touched  upon  a  favorite 
topic,  as  she  squared  herself  round,  and,  with  great  ani- 
mation, told  me  the  following  story.  But  I  have  the 
manuscript." 

He  went  out  of  the  room  a  moment,  and  returned  and 
read  the  following : 

"The  castle  of  Guelhelm,"  she  said,  "  was  an  old  ram- 
bling building,  which  had  been  in  the  family  of  that 
name  for  centuries.  In  the  time  of  my  grandmother" 
(for  I  shall  quote  her  own  words)  "the  old  baron  died 
without  heirs,  and  an  Italian  count,  named  Castorella, 


172  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

came  and  took  possession  of  it.  He  was  an  old  man,  and 
liis  fierce  black  eyes  excited  the  fears  of  the  people  around 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  then,  too,  stories  began  to  be 
told  of  his  strange  behavior,  until  at  last  people  believed 
he  was  wrong  about  the  head,  and  were  more  afraid  of 
him  than  ever.  And  he  lived  almost  alone,  up  in  the  old 
castle,  except  every  now  and  then  my  grandfather  used 
to  go  up  to  pay  him  the  rent  for  his  land,  and  he  says 
he  was  always  glad  to  get  away,  that  the  place  was  so 
desolate.  But  he  never  was  permitted  to  leave  without 
playing  a  game  of  chess,  of  which  he  was  passionately 
fond. 

"  Matters  went  on  thus  for  years, — the  old  wolf  leav- 
ing his  den  every  now  and  then,  and  absenting  himself 
for  a  month  or  two,  and  then  returning  wilder  and  stran- 
ger than  ever.  At  last  he  told  my  grandfather  one  day, 
over  their  game  of  chess,  that  he  was  going  to  bring  a 
wife  home,  and  wanted  to  engage  a  number  of  servants, 
as  he  did  not  intend  to  lead  the  life  he  had  been  doing. 
Nothing  could  surpass  the  astonishment  of  the  people  at 
the  idea  of  his  being  married,  and  you  may  be  sure  it 
was  a  difficult  thing  to  get  any  one  to  take  the  place  of 
servant  at  the  castle.  But  the  love  of  money  will  over- 
come almost  any  fears,  and  so  they  found  enough  to  fill 
the  different  offices  in  the  household.  My  grandfather's 
youngest  daughter,  Gretchen,  was  engaged  as  lady's-maid. 

"But  if  the  astonishment  was  great  at  the  idea  of  his 
bringing  a  wife  home,  it  was  much  greater  when  she 
made  her  appearance.  She  was  a  young  girl  of  about 
eighteen,  with  soft,  melancholy,  black  eyes,  and  Gretchen 
says  she  could  see  her  shrink  away  whenever  he  came 
near  her,  though  she  tried  very  hard  to  keep  him  from 
seeing  it. 

"  Well,  her  life  must  have  been  a  very  dreadful  one. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  A   FEAST.  173 

At  first  he  used  to  invite  company  to  see  them,  but  he 
was  so  jealous  of  her  if  she  spoke  to  any  one  else  that 
her  life  was  miserable.  And  he  treated  the  visitors  so 
badly  that  they  never  cared  to  return,  and  at  last,  but  for 
the  servants,  she  would  have  been  perfectly  alone  with 
her  dreadful  lord.  Gretchen  says  she  used  to  walk  about 
within  the  walls  which  inclosed  the  grounds,  and  even 
then  he  would  watch  her  from  a  turret-chamber  where 
he  spent  most  of  his  time. 

"  He  used  to  make  her  play  chess  with  him,  and  she 
always  let  him  win,  because  it  kept  him  in  better  humor. 
It  used  to  make  my  aunt  so  sorry  to  see  her  growing 
thinner  and  paler,  pining  away  like  a  bird  in  a  cage,  and 
all  the  time  his  eyes  got  fiercer  and  his  manner  wilder, 
and  she  could  see  the  look  of  terror  in  her  face  every 
time  he  came  into  the  room. 

"Well,  one  day  as  Gretchen  sat  in  a  little  antechamber, 
next  my  lady's  parlor,  the  lord  having  gone  to  the  woods, 
for  a  wonder,  one  of  the  servants  ushered  in  a  young 
man,  and  when  the  lady  saw  him,  she  fainted  away,  and 
Gretchen  came  in  to  recover  her.  She  found  the  young 
man  holding  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissing  her  and  calling 
her  all  sorts  of  pretty  names,  and  there  she  lay,  not 
knowing  anything,  as  white  as  the  snow.  At  last  Gret- 
chen persuaded  him  to  lay  her  down  on  a  lounge  in  the 
room,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  opened  her  eyes  and 
looked  around  her  so  wildly,  and  when  she  saw  who  was 
bending  over  her,  she  burst  out  crying,  and  said  some- 
thing to  him  that  Gretchen  could  not  understand,  as  it 
was  in  a  foreign  tongue ;  but  she  knew  she  was  begging 
him  to  go  awav  before  her  husband  came  back.  He  tried 

•/ 

to  persuade  her  to  let  him  stay,  but  she  was  in  such 
agony,  and  even  pushed  him  away  from  her,  that  he  got 
up  to  obey  her.  But  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  just  as  he 

15* 


174  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

turned  towards  the  door  the  old  lord  opened  it.  Gretchen. 
said  she  never  will  forget  the  look  of  his  face  as  he  saw 
the  stranger  there, — she  thought  he  must  have  lost  his 
senses  from  passion  at  once.  It  was  in  vain  that  ray  lady 
tried  to  explain  that  her  cousin  from  her  own  country  had 
come  to  see  her.  He  knew  better  than  that,  and  raved 
like  a  madman,  then  drove  him  out  of  the  house.  Sud- 
denly he  grew  calm,  but  looked  like  he  was  thinking  how 
he  could  get  him  in  his  hands  again." 

John  here  interrupted  the  speaker  to  ask  what  sort  of 
an  expression  that  was. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Murray ;  "  I  only  give  you 
her  own  words.  I  am  not  responsible  for  her  errors  of 
rhetoric. 

"At  last  he  disappeared,  and  the  poor  lady  cried  herself 
to  sleep.  Gretchen  sat  by  her  fanning  her  all  the  even- 
ing. At  last  she  heard  the  old  lord  calling  up  the  ser- 
vants. She  crept  to  the  door  and  found  him  dismissing 
them  one  by  one  ;  she  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it, 
and  as  the  lady  still  slept  she  was  afraid  to  leave  her  to 
see ;  so  there  she  stayed  until  she  heard  the  last  one 
leave,  and  knew  her  lady  and  herself  were  alone  in  the 
house  with  the  crazy  lord.  Presently  she  heard  him  hur- 
rying along  the  hall,  and  he  opened  the  door  with  a  crash, 
which  waked  the  lady  and  brought  her  standing  on  her 
feet. 

"  'Ha !  ha!'  he  said,  laughing  his  dreadful  mad  laugh  ; 
'you  wanted  a  lover,  did  you?  Well,  you  shall  have 
him  ;  I  will  keep  him  safe.' 

"She  clasped  her  hands  and  threw  herself  at  his  feet. 
He  only  laughed  at  her  and  said  '  he  thought  he  was 
coming  to  my  lady's  bower,  where  I  sent  Heinrich  after 
him  with  a  message  from  you  ;  and  when  he  came  and 
waited  he  found  the  old  man  was  too  cunning  for  him, 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  A    FEAST.  175 

and  locks  and  bars  would  hold  him  safe  enough.'  And 
then  he  would  laugh  until  the  old  walls  rung  again.  Oh, 
how  she  lay  there  on  the  floor  and  wept  and  bewailed 
herself  in  her  agony ! 

"  Gretchen  had  remained  a  quiet  spectator  all  this  time, 
thinking  what  she  could  do  to  help  her  lady.  She  thought 
now  if  she  could  only  get  out  of  the  room  she  might 
give  the  alarm  and  rescue  not  only  her  mistress  but  the 
young  man,  if  he  were  indeed  a  prisoner.  But  then  the 
danger  of  moving,  as  she  did  not  think  he  had  observed 
her  yet.  At  last  she  determined  to  try,  and  crept  along 
behind  him  to  the  door,  though  it  went  to  her  heart  to 
leave  her  mistress  alone  in  the  hands  of  this  man,  no 
better  than  a  wolf;  but  it  was  the  only  thing  she  could 
do.  Just  as  she  got  her  hand  on  the  handle  of  the  door, 
however,  the  madman  turned  around  and  rushed  at  her. 
Seizing  her  by  the  arm,  he  dragged  her  across  the  hall  and 
threw  her  into  his  own  bedroom,  locking  the  door  on  her. 
She  examined  all  of  the  windows  and  doors,  but  there 
was  no  place  that  a  rat  could  have  crept  out,  and  there 
she  had  to  stay,  every  now  and  then  hearing  that  awful 
mad  laugh ;  and  once,  as  she  listened  at  the  door,  she 
heard  her  mistress  cry  for  '  Help  !  help!'  as  she  seemed 
to  be  dragged  up,  up,  as  high  as  the  turret-chamber. 
She  shook  the  door  violently,  but  it  was  no  use.  Again 
she  rushed  to  the  window,  but  it  was  all  as  still  as  the 
grave.  The  servants  were  too  glad  to  be  paid  off  and 
dismissed  to  linger  about  longer  than  they  could  help. 
She  looked  eagerly  at  all  the  windows  of  the  castle.  At 
last  she  caught  sight  of  a  human  face  across  the  court 
at  a  window  almost  facing  hers  ;  it  was  the  unfortunate 
young  man.  She  tried  for  a  long  time  to  catch  his  eye, 
but  in  vain.  At  last  she  bethought  her  of  the  old  lord's 
dressing-gown  of  bright  red,  which  she  waved  backwards 


176  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

and  forwards  before  the  window.  He  saw  it;  that  was 
a  little  accomplished,  but  so  little  !  She  tried  to  open 
her  window  in  vain ;  it  was  fastened  down  with  strong  iron 
bolts.  She  saw  a  like  effort  on  his  part,  and  a  like  failure. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  Nothing  but  watch  and  wait. 

"After  she  had  been  thus  shut  up  for  about  two  hours, 
she  was  startled  by  hearing  that  mad  laugh  again  ;  at 
first  faint,  then  louder  and  louder,  coming  clown  the  tur- 
ret stair.  My  aunt  said  she  never  forgot  the  terror  of 
that  moment.  What  had  happened  ?  The  poor  lady 
alone  in  the  hands  of  that  dreadful  man !  The  laugh 
came  nearer ;  she  thought  he  was  coming  to  the  door  of 
the  room  where  she  was ;  her  heart  stood  still ;  but  he 
turned  off,  and  again  the  laugh  grew  faint,  though  it  did 
not  now  come  from  above  ;  he  was  going  in  the  direction 
of  the  other  wing.  Involuntarily  she  again  flew  to  the 
window ;  there  was  the  face  of  the  young  stranger  still. 
She  tried  to  signal  to  him  that  danger  was  approaching, 
but  he  only  looked  puzzled  ;  but  some  sound  evidently 
attracted  him  ;  he  turned  away  from  the  window.  Oh, 
how  she  strained  her  eyes  to  see  what  was  going  on  ! 
but  in  vain.  Once  she  saw  a  white  face  for  a  moment 
against  the  window-pane,  a  hand  thrown  up  as  if  to 
make  some  sign  to  her,  and  that  was  all. 

"  Gretchen  threw  herself  on  the  ground  and  shrieked 
aloud.  Then  a  mortal  terror  seized  her  ;  but  no  escape, 
no  escape  ! — to  be  mewed  up  like  a  rat  in  a  hole  ! — dread- 
ful !  But  again  the  fearful  sound  echoed  through  those 
long  corridors ;  it  approached  more  closely  now,  the 
steps  were  heavier,  and  ever  and  anon  there  was  a  sound 
as  if  something  brushed  heavily  against  the  wall  in  pass- 
ing. Again  she  thought  the  steps  were  coming  towards 
her  door,  and  again  she  was  mistaken  ;  they  went  upward, 
upward. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  A   FEAST.  Iff 

"  Ob,  if  she  only  knew  what  was  going  on  !  Anything 
was  better  than  this  suspense.  She  felt  as  if  it  would 
be  a  relief  even  if  the  dreaded  madman  would  come  and 
tell  her  what  he  had  done.  She  had  hardly  brought  her 
mind  to  this  when  it  seemed  as  if  she  was  to  be  gratified, 
for  she  heard  him  descending  the  stairs. 

"  Now,  Gretchen  was  a  shrewd  girl,  and  the  danger  she 
was  in  sharpened  her  wits.  In  one  moment  it  flashed  into 
her  mind  that  she  had  certainly  to  fight  for  her  own  life, 
and  perhaps  for  the  others.  Of  course  she  had  no  strength 
to  oppose  a  madman,  so  she  resorted  to  stratagem. 

"  She  picked  up  a  book,  and  took  her  seat  as  quietly  as 
she  could,  hoping  that  the  sight  of  her  sitting  so  might 
calm  him,  since  she  had  often  heard  that  mad  people, 
like  wild  animals,  can  sometimes  be  managed  by  a  quiet 
eye.  So,  there  she  sat,  the  footsteps  came  up  the 
passage,  a  key  was  inserted  in  the  key-hole.  She  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  door,  and  when  the  old  lord  poked  his 
head  in,  he  met  those  quiet  eyes ;  the  expression  of 
ferocity  in  his  was  near  undoing  her.  But  life  was  too 
precious  to  be  abandoned  willingly.  She  saw  him  try 
to  withdraw  his  gaze,  but  could  not;  the  calm  eyes 
fastened  him.  lie  came  towards  her ;  she  did  not  retreat 
an  inch,  but  stood  firmly,  waiting  his  coming. 

"  '  Ha,  my  pretty  Gretchen  !  you  here  ?  I  had  forgotten 

i  you.'     And  he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  clasp  her.     One 

motion  of  fear  now  and  all  would  hav.e  been  over ;  but 

the  brave  girl  stood  still  and  looked  at  him,  and  said  as 

naturally  as  she  could, — 

"  '  Where  is  my  lady,  sir?' 

"  The  extended  arms  dropped  at  his  side.  She  gathered 
courage  from  this  sign  of  success. 

"  '  Your  lady  !  Ah,  she  has  merry  company  to-nighfr. 
She  does  not  want  vou  or  me  !' 


H8  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

"  Her  blood  ran  cold  in  her  veins.  What  did  he  mean  ? 
She  dared  not  ask  :  but  managed  to  say,  quietly, — 

"  '  Indeed  !  Ah,  then,  if  she  is  satisfied  we  need  not  be 
unhappy.  Who  is  with  her  ?' 

"  Again  that  laugh — mocking  !  weird  !  terrible  ! 

"  '  Oh,  she  has  her  gay  young  lover  by  her  side.  She 
does  not  want  more.  She  played  her  game  of  chess  for 
him  and  won  him  ;  and  now  she  has  him  ! — ha  !  ha  ! 
ha!  ha!' 

"  Without  his  seeming  conscious  what  she  was  doing,  or 
without  taking  her  eyes  off  of  him,  she  put  out  her  hands 
and  gently  thrust  him  into  a  chair,  and  sat  down  facing 
him.  Her  only  hope  was  to  keep  this  control  over  him 
until  weariness  overtook  him,  and  then  to  get  on  the 
other  side  of  the  door, — the  key  was  on  the  outside.  And 
there  she  sat,  never  moving,  her  eyes  on  his.  She  felt, 
rather  than  saw,  the  sun  fading  away ;  its  light  creeping 
over  the  floor.  Now  it  touched  her  shoulder,  now  it  was 
gone.  Would  she  ever  see  it  again  ?  Twilight  was 
coming  on.  She  could  not  stay  in  the  dark  with  him, 
that  was  impossible.  She  remembered  a  flint  and  a  taper 
on  the  table  beside  her.  Could  she  find  it  ?  She  reached 
out  her  hand.  The  fiery  eyes  opposite  burned  into  hers, 
and  watched  her  motions.  She  simply  said,  '  It  is  get- 
ting dark,  we  had  better  light  the  taper.'  How  she  did 
it  she  never  knew ;  but  done  it  was,  and  the  fearful  vigil 
was  still  unbroken.  At  last  she  saw  the  lids  of  those 
burning  coals  closing.  It  was  gradual,  interrupted,  but 
he  slept.  She  waited  without  motion  until  she  saw  that 
the  slumber  was  real,  and  then,  moving  softly,  gained 
the  door.  It  was  unfastened,  but  creaked  as  she  opened 
it.  She  saw  the  wild  head  turn,  and  spring  upward ; 
but  she  was  on  the  outside,  and  the  great  key  turned  in 
the  lock. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  A   FEAST.  179 

"  She  heard  him  beating  upon  the  door,  but  knew  he 
was  safe  enough  now. 

"  She  flew  up  the  stairs  and  reached  the  turret-chamber. 
It  was  locked.  She  shook  the  door ;  a  shriek  answered 
her:  it  was  her  lady's  voice.  'For  God's  sake,  my  dear 
lady,  tell  me,  are  you  safe  ?' 

"  '  Oh,  Gretchen,'  wailed  the  voice,  '  open  the  door  !' 

'"In  a  minute,  niy  lady.  Don't  fear,  you  are  safe !' 
And  down  she  flew  again,  past  the  door  where  the  beat- 
ing still  continued,  down  to  the  kitchen,  seized  an  axe,  and 
up  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time  until  she  again  reached 
the  chamber.  Gretchen  was  a  stout  lass,  and  now  she 
worked  with  a  will,  battering  at  the  heavy  door,  every 
now  and  then  stopping  to  say  some  word  of  encourage- 
ment to  the  poor  lady  inside.  At  laat  the  lock  gave  way, 
and  the  door  flew  open  ;  and  the  lady  threw  herself  into 
her  arms,  crying,  '  Gretchen !  Gretchen  !'  and,  without 
turning  round,  pointed  behind  her.  The  sight  which  met 
her  eye  she  never  forgot.  There  was  no  light  in  the 
room  except  what  the  moon  threw  on  the  floor ;  and 
there,  in  its  light,  lay  the  body  of  the  young  man  \vith 
its  white,  dead  face  upward. 

"  '  Take  me  away,  Gretchen  !  dear  Gretchen  !'  cried 
the  lady.  Nor  had  she  any  wish  to  linger.  Down  those 
long  stairs,  through  the  long  corridor,  by  the  door  where 
they  heard  the  gnashing  and  shrieking  of  the  enraged 
animal  she  had  caged,  she  dragged  the  unfortunate  lady, 
— lingering  only  for  a  minute  to  get  a  mantle  to  throw 
around  her, — and  then  out  into  the  moonlight. 

"  The  poor  lady  was  perfectly  passive  in  her  hands, 
seeming  not  to  know  what  she  did,  and  to  care  less ;  every 
now  and  then  her  hand  would  go  up  to  her  face,  as  if  to 
shut  out  some  sight;  but,  except  this,  she  showed  no 
signs  of  consciousness. 


180  THE  HOL COMBES. 

"  Great  was  the  surprise  of  my  grandfather  and  grand- 
mother when  Gretchen  made  her  appearance  dragging, 
rather  than  leading,  the  beautiful  lady  of  the  castle.  She 
explained  as  well  as  she  could  what  had  happened,  and  a 
number  of  the  men  started  off  to  the  castle  to  secure  the 
madman  ;  but  before  they  got  half  way  there  the  way 
was  lighted  by  the  flames  from  the  building  shooting  out 
in  every  direction. 

"It  was  supposed  that  the  old  lord  set  it  on  fire  with 
the  taper  Gretchen  had  left  lighted  on  the  table.  Certain 
it  is  he  perished  in  the  flames,  along  with  the  body  of  his 
unfortunate  victim. 

"It  was  a  long  time  before  the  lady  of  the  castle  i-e- 
covered  her  reason  :  she  had  a  fever  of  the  brain,  and  it 
was  pitiful  to  hear  her  begging  Gretchen  to  take  her 
away  ;  then  she  would  fix  her  eyes  on  a  particular  spot, 
and  move  her  fingers,  and  call  out '  check,'  '  check,' '  check- 
mate;' and  when  she  said  checkmate,  she  would  fall  back 
and  scream  that  she  had  won  !  she  had  won !  She  had 
a  way  too  of  looking  behind  her,  and  then,  as  if  she  saw 
something  dreadful,  would  jerk  her  head  round  again  and 
say,  '  Oh,  if  he  only  would  shut  his  eyes  !' 

"  This  state  of  things  lasted  for  many,  many  weeks  ; 
but  at  last  the  fever  left  her, — they  thought  she  might  re- 
cover, but  she  faded  away. 

"  The  night  before  she  died  she  told  Gretchen  her 
story,  and  asked  her  to  bury  her  in  the  village  church- 
yard, and  put  'Helen1  on  the  stone. 

"  Her  story  was  this :  Her  father  was  an  Italian,  whose 
noble  name  was  all  his  wealth.  She  had  lived  all  her 
life  in  an  old  chateau,  and  the  only  companion  in  her 
solitude  was  her  cousin,  Paulus  Paola.  As  was  to  have 
been  expected,  they  became  attached  to  each  other,  and 
grew  up  with  the  idea  that  they  would  one  day  be  mar- 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  A   FEAST.  181 

ried.  She  talked  so  prettily  of  their  life  together ;  how 
they  wandered  about  the  old  woods,  or  studied  or  read 
together ;  how  he,  being  the  eldest,  taught  her  every- 
thing she  knew.  Every  now  and  then  her  father  would 
go  to  Rome  and  be  absent  some  time,  and  from  one  of 
these  expeditions  he  brought  back  the  Count  of  Casto- 
rella ;  but  his  arrival  did  not  trouble  Paulus  and  herself 
much,  until  her  father  took  it  into  his  head  that  Paulus 
must  go  to  Rome  to  study  with  some  of  the  masters 
there ;  of  course  this  was  a  trial  to  them,  but  Paulus  was 
devoted  to  painting,  and  delighted  to  be  able  to  improve 
himself  in  the  art ;  but  his  greatest  pleasure  in  the  pros- 
pect held  out  to  him  was,  that  he  would  be  able  to  claim 
her  for  his  wife  as  soon  as  he  returned. 

"  Imagine  her  horror,  though,  when  the  day  after  his 
departure  her  father  bade  her  prepare  to  receive  this  old 
count  as  her  future  husband.  Of  what  avail  was  it  that 
she  wept  and  prayed  ? — it  was  determined  upon  before 
Paulus  left.  And  what  could  she  do,  poor  lamb,  in  the 
hands  of  two  determined  men  ?  So  she  was  married,  and 
brought  over  to  this  melancholy  old  castle  in  the  depths  of 
the  forest ;  and  she  never  heard  of  Paulus  again  until  that 
dreadful  day  when  he  appeared  so  suddenly  before  her. 
He  told  her  that  he  stayed  in  Rome  six  months,  and  then 
returned,  expecting  to  find  her.  What  was  his  astonish- 
ment to  learn  that  she  had  been  married  nearly  five,  and 
gone  no  one  knew  whither.  And  her  father  refused  to 
give  him  any  satisfaction,  except  that  she  had  married 
the  Count  of  Castorella,  and  was  gone  where  he  would 
never  find  her.  Wild  with  grief  he  started  out,  and  after 
incredible  difficulties  succeeded  in  tracing  her. 

"  She  also  told  Gretchen  what  happened  to  her  after 
she  was  imprisoned  in  the  room  of  the  old  count.  She 
said  that  when  she  saw  him  drag  her  out  of  the  room 

16 


182  THE  UOLCOMBES. 

she  bethought  her  of  a  way  through  the  antechamber  by 
which  she  could  reach  the  outer  court,  and,  perhaps,  send 
help  to  both  Gretchen  and  Paulus;  and  she  had  actually 
almost  reached  the  outer  door,  when  she  heard  his  steps 
behind  her.  He  seized  her,  exclaiming  that  he  knew  she 
was  only  trying  to  make  her  escape  to  join  her  lover ; 
and,  after  dragging  her  back  to  her  own  room,  and  taunt- 
ing her  with  her  misery,  he  exclaimed  that  he  would 
have  her  safe  enough,  and,  seizing  her  by  the  arm,  he 
tried  to  drag  her  towards  the  door,  but  she  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  and  plead  for  '  mercy,'' — but  she  might  as 
well  have  spoken  to  the  winds, — and  his  only  answer  to 
her  appeals  was  that  mad  laugh.  She  thought  of  nothing 
less  than  a  violent  death,  when  he  caught  her  around  the 
waist,  and,  lifting  her  from  the  ground,  carried  her  from 
the  room ;  then  it  was  that  she  uttered  that  wild  cry  for 
'Help!'  'help!'  which  Gretchen  had  heard. 

"  She  was  surprised  to  find  herself  borne  upward,  until 
the  turret-chamber,  that  favorite  resort  of  his,  occurred 
to  her.  All  the  way  up  those  stairs  she  wept  and  plead 
with  him  ;  it  only  excited  his  mad  mirth.  She  thought 
he  would  put  her  up  there  and  let  her  starve  to  death, 
and  no  one  would  ever  hear  of  it.  At  last  they  reached 
the  door ;  he  opened  it,  and,  throwing  her  upon  a  bed, 
he  said,  with  a  horrible  imprecation,  '  Now  you  are  safe  ! 
now  you  are  safe!'  After  gibing  at  and  tormenting  her 
for  some  time,  he  proposed  a  game  of  chess,  and  said  he, — 

"  '  By  way  of  interesting  you  in  the  game,  suppose  we 
play  for  some  stake.  What  say  you  ?  This  gay,  young 
lover — this  kind  cousin  ;  if  you  beat  me  he  is  yours  ;  if 
I  beat  you  be  is  mine.'  She  looked  at  him  for  an  instant ; 
his  eye  was  less  wild  ;  there  was  an  appearance  of  sanity, 
at  any  rate,  and  so  the  dreadful  game  began,  her  excite- 
ment becoming  so  intense  as  she  went  on  that  she  felt  as 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  A   FEAST.  183 

if  she  was  smothering-.  She  could  see  him  watching  her 
with  his  fiendish  eyes,  but  she  did  not  care,  the  terrible 
stake  for  which  she  played  absorbed  all  feeling  ;  her 
trembling  hand  moved  with  caution  from  one  piece  to 
another,  and  at  last  she  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair 

« 

and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  The  game  was  won  ! 
she  had  saved  him  ! 

"  Long  and  loud  laughed  her  mad  husband.  '  Ha ! 
she  played  for  and  won  him,  and  she  should  have  him.' 
And  she  could  hear  him,  as  he  went  down  the  steps, 
repeating  this  over  and  over. 

"She  never  knew  how  long  a  time  passed  before  she 
heard  the  heavy  footsteps  returning.  Ah,  how  eagerly 
she  listened  to  hear  if  Paulus  was  with  him !  But  no, 
only  the  one  footstep  coming  up  ;  now  stopping,  as  if 
wearied,  and  now  stumbling  on  again.  At  last  the  steps 
paused  before  her  door,  the  key  was  turned ;  she  saw  the 
dreadful  burden  he  bore,  and  fainted.  When  she  came 
to  herself,  all  was  still ;  she  lay  on  the  floor ;  she  tried 
to  collect  her  scattered  senses,  looked  around  her,  and, 
horror  of  horrors !  close  beside  her  lay  that  dead  face, 
with  the  staring  eyes !  She  shrieked  until  her  voice 
sounded  hoarse  ;  but  of  what  avail  was  it  ?  No  one  would 
hear  her  except  her  jailer ;  even  his  presence,  though, 
would  have  been  a  relief.  She  called  upon  him,  entreat- 
ing him  to  come  and  kill  her,  as  he  had  done  Paulus.  No 
answer  !  She  had  thrown  herself  as  far  off  from  the  body 
as  she  could ;  but  every  now  and  then  her  fascinated 
glance  would  return  to  that  stolid  face  lying  there  in  the 
moonlight,  ever  looking  upward. 

"  At  last  came  Gretchen's  flying  footsteps,  and  theu 
Gretchen's  voice. 

"  She  died  the  next  day,  said  my  hostess,  and  they 
buried  her  in  the  burying-ground  on  the  hill." 


184  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"  How  horrible  !"  ejaculated  all  the  company  as  he 
ended. 

"  Yes,  it  is,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Murray.  "  I  have  no 
fancy  for  such  stories ;  but  I  was  tempted  by  your  con- 
versation on  the  subject  of  chess  to  give  you  this  one." 

"  Do  you  suppose  it  is  true  ?"  said  Mary. 

"In  its  main  facts,  yes,"  was  the  answer;  "but  I 
would  not  vouch  for  the  entire  truth  of  any  story  which 
has  had  half  a  century  in  which  to  grow." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

MISS  HOLCOMBE'S   DEBUT. 

AT  last  the  preparations  for  the  feast  were  over,  and 
the  time  arrived  to  which  all  looked  forward  with  so 
much  pleasure. 

The  day  proved  a  lovely  one,  and  was  passed  by  the 
ladies  in  giving  the  finishing  touches  to  the  house,  and 
by  the  gentlemen  in  disposing  to  advantage  the  fanciful 
lanterns  and  other  ornaments  for  the  grounds.  Daylight 
never  gives  much  encouragement  to  this  style  of  prepa- 
ration, as  the  colors,  unaided  by  the  light  of  the  candle 
within,  and  in  the  face  of  day,  look  decidedly  dingy;  but 
the  pretty  little  refreshment-tables  set  about  under  the 
trees,  at  each  of  which  a  waiter  was  stationed,  were  de- 
cidedly tempting.  Every  place  was  opened  which  could 
possibly  be  spared  for  the  reception  of  visitors. 

The  invitations  had  been  very  general,  and  as  it  had 
been  a  long  time  since  so  large  an  entertainment  had 
been  given  at  Rose  Hill,  and  all  were  anxious  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  the  young  daughter  of  the  house  on 
this  her  first  entrance  into  society,  it  was  expected  that  the 
attendance  would  be  almost  as  general  as  the  invitations. 

"Look  here,  papa,"  said  Margaret,  sailing  into  the 
parlor  where  Mr.  Holcombc  was  standing,  with  Mr.  Mur- 
ray, superintending  the  lighting  of  the  rooms. 

Her  dress  was,  as  usual,  pure  white,  of  some  gossamer 
material,  which  floated  around  her  like  the  cloud  in  which 
it  is  the  fancy  of  painters  to  represent  angels  ;  but  it  was 

16*  (185) 


186  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

a  very  human  face  which  smiled  above  this  cloud.  The 
wax-lights  with  which  the  rooms  were  illuminated  lent  a 
softened  tone  to  the  brilliant  style  of  her  beauty,  while 
the  bright  eyes  sparkled  and  danced  with  the  anticipated 
pleasure.  She  wore  no  ornaments  except  a  simple  pearl 
pin  which  had  been  her  mother's,  and  one  magnificent 
white  rose,  which  shone  like  a  star  in  her  jet-black  hair. 

Mr.  Holcombe  was  standing  with  his  back  to  her  as  she 
came  into  the  room,  but  turned  at  the  sound  of  her  voice. 
At  the  first  glimpse  of  her  he  put  his  hands  over  his  eyes 
as  if  dazzled,  and  then  folding  his  arms  around  her  said, 
with  considerable  emotion, — 

"  My  darling  child !  you  arc  startlingly  like  your 
mother  to-night;  I  can  almost  fancy  that  I  am  living 
over  the  past  again.  God  bless  you,  my  child,  and  make 
you  like  her  in  other  respects  than  mere  outward  appear- 
ance ;  but  I  did  not  mean  to  give  you  so  sober  a  greeting 
on  this  your  gala  day  ;  you  took  me  by  surprise." 

Mr.  Murray  now  came  forward  and  said, — 

"  Now  let  me  offer  the  greetings  of  the  evening.  I  am 
glad  my  rose  met  with  sufficient  approbation  to  give  it  so 
honored  a  position." 

"  Yes,  I  was  going  to  wear  pearls  in  my  hair,  but  de- 
cided that  I  would  favor  nature  for  this  one  evening,"  said 
Margaret,  smiling  and  blushing. 

"  Don't  say  for  this  one  evening,  but  always ;  I  am 
glad  you  did  not  wear  the  pearls — youth  is  too  rich  to 
need  foreign  aid." 

"  Have  the  lanterns  been  lighted  ?"  asked  Margaret. 

"  Yes  indeed ;  have  you  not  seen  them  ?  I  expect 
your  visitors  will  imagine  themselves  transported  to  fairy- 
land." 

He  gave  her  his  arm  as  he  spoke,  and  led  the  way  to 
the  door.  They  met  Mr.  Williams  in  the  hall,  who  in- 


MISS  HOLCOMBE'S  D&BUT.  187 

sisted  that  her  first  sight  of  the  lawn  must  b.e  from  the 
lower  end,  and  playfully  proposed  blindfolding  her. 

She  consented,  and  he  tied  a  handkerchief  over  her 
eyes,  and  thus  reduced  her  to  entire  dependence  upon  her 
companion. 

"Oh,  I  feel  so  helpless!"  she  said,  reaching  out  her 
hands.  "  I  don't  like  this ;  I  don't  like  to  have  to  trust 
entirely  to  anybody." 

"  That  is  doing  yourself  injustice,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Mr.  Williams ;  "  you  are  no  true  woman  if  you  are  not 
willing  to  trust." 

She  put  up  her  hand  to  remove  the  bandage,  but  it  was 
taken  possession  of  by  a  large  one,  in  which  her  own  felt 
completely  lost,  and  Mr.  Murray's  voice  said, — "  Let  me 
take  care  of  you ;  you  are  not  afraid  to  trust  me,  are 
you  ?"  And  without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  rested  the 
hand  gently  upon  his  arm,  guiding  her  steps  with  the 
greatest  care,  leaving  Mr.  Williams  looking  after  them, 
with  a  smile  upon  his  face. 

"What  are  you  looking  at,  Mr.  Williams  ?"  said  Mary's 
voice  behind  him. 

"At  you  now,  Miss  Snowflake,"  was  the  answer; 
"  I  am  so  glad  you  still  have  the  good  taste  to  cling 
to  your  childhood.  Stand  away,  and  let  me  see  you." 
And,  as  she  curtsied  off,  "  Yes,  you  are  very  well  worth 
looking  at,  but  I  think  I  would  rather  see  you  in  that 
torn  calico  dress,  with  tousled  hair,  standing  on  the  rock 
at  'Hawk's  Nest.'  You  were  a  very  pretty  little  child; 
it  is  a  pity,  though,  that  it  was  all  expended  at  that  early 
age;  pretty  children  seldom  make  pretty  grown  people," 
said  he,  laughing  down  at  her. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Williams,"  said  Mary, 
looking  puzzled  and  vexed ;  "  but  I  don't  think  it  is  very 
polite  in  you  to  talk  so  to  me." 


188  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Mary,  it  would  not  be  polite  for 
any  one  else ;  but  I  am  an  old  man  to  you  ;  I  can  take 
those  privileges  which  would  be  an  impertinence  in 
another." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,  though,"  said  she  ;  "  I  don't 
think  it  is  at  all  pleasant  to  be  told  that  you  are  ugly." 

"  Oh  I"  iu  a  shocked  tone.  "  Excuse  me,  I  never  said 
anything  so  dreadful ;  I  only  want  you  to  cultivate  other 
qualities,  and  not  depend  on  such  a  fading  flower  as 
beauty.  And  if  you  should  happen  to  be  pretty, — now  re- 
member I  am  only  supposing  an  improbable  case, — try 
and  not  know  it." 

"  I  think  if  I  have  to  try  not  to  know  it,  there  won't  be 
much  reality  in  the  ignorance,"  said  Mary,  laughing;  "  I 
dare  say  it  is  not  of  very  much  importance  in  a  long  life- 
time, but  still  no  one  likes  to  be  disagreeable-looking ;  and 
I  don't  believe  you  think  I  am,  either."  And  she  ran  off 
into  the  parlors. 

Meantime  Margaret,  with  her  guide,  made  their  way 
down  through  the  yard  to  the  terraces,  she  begging  to 
have  her  independence  restored,  and  he  enjoying  seeing 
her  in  this  novel  position  too  much  to  agree  to  any  such 
move. 

"Indeed,  Mr.  Murray,"  said  she,  "I  am  afraid  to  ven- 
ture down  these  steps  ;  I  don't  know  anything  about 
your  ability  to  take  care  of  blind  people.  Just  suppose 
you  should  go  mad,  like  old  Lord  Castorella,  and -hurl  me 
to  the  bottom  of  this  place.  Let  me  take  this  handkerchief 
off." 

"  You  may,  after  awhile,"  he  said,  laughingly  pre- 
venting her  purpose;  "but  for  the  present  I  have  you  in 
possession,  and  don't  intend  to  resign  my  privileges, — I 
may  never  have  another  chance." 

"  Mr.  Murray,"  she  said,  hardly  knowing  whether  to 


MISS  HOL COMBE'S  DEBUT.  189 

be  angry  or  not,  "  I  never  allow  gentlemen  to  say  what 
I  shall  or  sha'n't  do, — I  generally  do  as  I  please." 

"  So  I  have  perceived,  Miss  Holcombe ;  so  much  the 
worse  for  you, — it  is  time  you  had  some  one  to  take  you 
in  hand,"  was  the  imperturbable  answer.  He  had  drawn 
her  down  to  the  top  of  the  last  flight  of  steps,  as  a  gentle- 
man started  at  the  foot.  Hearing  footsteps,  Margaret  took 
matters  in  her  own  hands,  and  drew  off  the  bandage. 
The  stranger  bowed  and  passed  on.  Nothing  could  ex- 
ceed Margaret's  vexation ;  she  let  Mr.  Murray  see  the 
material  of  which  she  was  made, — blamed  him  without 
stint  for  placing  her  in  an  absurd  position. 

He  seemed  annoyed  about  it  himself,  but  laughed  it 
off,  telling  her  that  he  should  seek  the  gentleman  as 
soon  as  they  returned  and  explain  the  little  scene  to  him. 
"  The  statement  of  the  familiar  relations  in  which  I  stand 
to  you  is  sufficient  explanation,"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  she  said,  still  indignantly. 

"  Well,  as  your  stepmother's  brother,"  was  his  answer. 

"  That  does  not  bring  us  one  step  closer,  I  assure  you," 
she  said,  and  was  sorry  the  minute  the  words  were  out  of 
her  mouth. 

"  Excuse  me  for  advancing  it  as  an  argument  on  my 
side, — I  am  not  ambitious  of  the  honor  of  being  your 
uncle,  I  assure  you,"  said  he. 

She  tried  to  laugh,  but  he  did  not  respond,  and  their 
walk  continued  in  perfect  silence  until  they  reached  the 
lower  end  of  the  lawn.  The  scene  was  indeed  beautiful. 
The  house  was  illuminated  from  attic  to  basement,  and 
the  thick  trees  immediately  around  were  studded  with 
lights  of  all  colors.  On  the  lawn  below,  however,  most 
of  the  labor  had  been  expended,  the  center  of  the  circle 
around  which  the  carriage-road  ran  being  fixed  to  repre- 
sent a  parterre ;  there  were  huge  tulips  of  gaudy  colors 


190  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

rearing  their  heads  by  the  pure  lily  and  bright  bluebell, 
while  the  statuettes  glowed  prettily  in  every  direction. 
The  whole  thing  was  pronounced  a  success;  and  as  the 
carriages  were  heard  rumbling  in  the  distance,  approach- 
ing the  house,  they  turned  their  feet  homeward.  Marga- 
ret longed  to  tell  him  that  she  knew  she  had  been  rude, 
but  as  usual  her  pride  interfered,  and  she  left  him  free  to 
resent  an  implied  affront  to  his  sister,  at  which  he  would 
have  laughed  had  he  alone  been  concerned. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Murray  returned  to  the  house  he 
hunted  up  the  stranger  who  had  made  so  malapropos  an 
appearance  on  the  steps,  sought  and  obtained  an  intro- 
duction, and  made  an  explanatipn  to  him  of  the  circum- 
stances, which  must,  to  a  stranger,  have  been  a  little  puz- 
zling. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the  gentleman,  laughing ;  "  I  saw  a 
little  romp  going  on  between " 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  hotly ; 
"there  was  nothing  of  the  kind, — I  was  only  guiding 
her  to  the  end  of  the  lawn,  that  she  might  see  the  lights 
to  better  advantage." 

"  In  what  relation  do  you  stand  to  the  young  lady  ?" 
said  the  stranger,  meaningly. 

Mr.  Murray  felt  disposed  to  knock  him  down  for  his 
insufferable  impertinence,  but  he  restrained  himself,  and 
said, — 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir,  that  the  information  is  necessary 
to  my  object  in  seeking  this  introduction  ;  I  simply  wished 
to  explain  on  the  young  lady's  account. 

"  Ah,  yes,  yes ;  all  right.  I  suppose  you  would  not 
mind  giving  me  an  introduction,  would  you?" 

But  Mr.  Murray  was  no  longer  by  his  side, — he  had 
anticipated  his  request,  and  left  before  he  should  be  called 
upon  to  refuse,  as  he  most  undoubtedly  should  have  done, 


MISS  HOLCOMBE'S  DEBUT.  191 

as  the  man's  manner  to  him  was  disagreeable  in  the  ex- 
treme. 

He  found  himself  beside  Ellen  Randolph,  a  sweet,  gen- 
tle little  girl,  too  diffident  to  make  acquaintances  easily, 
and  with  whom  he  had  never  advanced  beyond  a  first  in- 
troduction. 

He  had  not  recovered  from  the  vexation  produced  by 
his  last  encounter,  and  as  usual  his  face  showed  it,  though 
he  tried  to  conceal  it  by  assuming  a  careless  manner. 

"  Why,  Miss  Randolph,"  he  said,  "what  are  you  doing 
way  off  in  this  corner  ?  Let  me  take  you  into  the  gay 
world;  you  ought  to  know  better  how  to  take  care  of 
yourself."  And  he  offered  his  arm. 

"I  wonder,"  said  she,  diffidently,  "if  I  am  ever  going 
to  get  over  this  dreadful  shamefacedness  ? — it  is  a  positive 
annoyance  to  me." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  he,  gently;  "I  suppose  most  young 
ladies  of  your  age  feel  it, — it  is  not  expected  that  a  rose 
should  burst  into  full  bloom  all  at  once ;  the  bud  which 
closes  its  leaves  from  the  common  gaze  is,  to  my  mind, 
much  sweeter." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Murray,"  she  said,  "  for  a  pretty 
compliment ;  but  it  is  very  uncomfortable  to  be  a  bud,  I 
assure  you.  I  have  been  looking  forward  to  this  party 
with  so  much  pleasure,  and  as  soon  as  I  get  into  the  room 
I  feel  perfectly  out  of  place  ;  I  am  as  stupid  as  an  owl." 

He  laughed,  and  said,  "  I  had  a  young  friend  once 
who  professed  to  be  afflicted  as  you  are,  and  she  told  me 
that  she  often  tried  to  guard  against  these  spells  of  em- 
barrassment by  making  up  her  mind  what  she  would  say 
beforehand." 

Ellen  blushed  and  laughed,  consciously. 

"Ah,  I  see,  Miss  Randolph,  that  I  turn  a  leaf  in  your 
experience." 


192  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

His  free,  kind  manner  drew  her  out  and  encouraged 
her,  and  she  laughed  almost  as  merrily  as  Mary  would 
have  done. 

"  Tell  me  the  candid  truth,"  he  said,  bending  down  to 
look  into  her  face. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  own  it,"  she  said ;  "  but  nobody  ever  says 
just  what  I  expect,  so  I  am  thrown  out  in  the  beginning 
and  cannot  find  my  place." 

"  Shall  I  give  you  a  good  rule  to  overcome  this, — better 
than  learning  a  lesson  ?"  said  he,  kindly. 

"Please  do." 

"  Well,  look  around  and  find  some  one  who  is  in  need 
of  help, — perhaps  suffering  as  you  do,  or  in  some  other 
way,  and  try  to  relieve  them,  and  you  will  find  your  own 
way  infinitely  smoother." 

"  You  mean,"  said  she,  "  that  I  must  try  and  forget 
myself?" 

"Yes,  exactly;  you  will  pardon  me,  and  understand 
what  I  mean,  I  Ifnow,  when  I  say  that  the  feeling  from 
which  you  suffer  is,  after  all,  a  little  selfishness  " 

He  doubted  her  understanding  him,  and  feared  he  had 
pained  her  when  he  saw  the  flush  mount  to  her  cheek ; 
so  he  hastened  to  explain, — 

"  Not  selfishness  in  the  objectionable  sense  of  prefer- 
ring ourselves  to  others,  but  in  thinking  of  our  own  im- 
perfections and  indulging  in  the  too  earnest  desire  to 
shine, — it  arises  from  a  want  of  self-appreciation ;  but 
try  my  recipe.  Your  cousin  does  not  seem  to  be  annoyed 
by  any  such  self-torment, — how  well  she  graces  her  po- 
sition 1" 

They  were  standing  opposite  Margaret,  who  was  doing 
the  honors  to  her  guests  with  the  most  perfect  ease.  Just 
then  Ellen  saw  a  look  of  vexation  cross  Mr.  Murray's 
face  as  a  gentleman  was  introduced  to  her  cousin  by  Mr. 
Williams. 


MISS  HOLCOMBE' S  DEBUT.  193 

"  Miss  Holcombe,  let  me  present  my  friend,  Dr.  Bur- 
ton." 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  said  Ellen,  under  her  breath. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "but  I  don't  like  his  manners 
or  appearance;  I  cannot" imagine  how  he  found  his  way 
here." 

Dr.  Burton  leaned  forward  and  said  something  to  Mar- 
garet, and  Mr.  Murray  saw  the  blood  rush  to  her  face  and 
her  eyes  flash  in  his  direction  for  an  instant.  He  would 
have  given  a  great  deal  to  know  what  had  passed,  but 
could  think  of  no  way  of  finding  out. 

Jean  came  up,  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  and  said, 
"  I  have  not  seen  you  all  the  evening,  Robert;  where 
have  you  been  keeping  yourself?" 

"  I  have  been  taking  care  of  this  young  lady  for  some 
little  time,"  he  said,  smiling  at  Ellen.  "  Mr.  Holcombe, 
who  is  that  talking  to  your  daughter  ?" 

Mr.  Holcombe  turned  to  look.  "  He  is  a  stranger,  but 
has  been  very  generally  received  by  the  good  people  of 

C ;  I  don't  know  much  about  him.     He  was  here  last 

winter,  and  this  morning  some  one  sent  me  a  note  asking 

for  an  invitation  for  him,  as  he  had  arrived  at  C last 

night ; — of  course  I  sent  it." 

Margaret  had  taken  Dr.  Burton's  arm,  and  was  going 
out  into  the  grounds  with  him.  Mr.  Murray  had  never 
seen  her  so  animated. 

"  Pshaw  !"  he  said  to  himself,  "  what  is  the  use  of  my 
worrying  about  her? — she  is  fully  able  to  take  care  of 
herself  without  any  interference  of  mine."  But  it  was  no 
use  to  argue, — he  did  worry  every  time  he  saw  them  to- 
gether, which  was  almost  every  time  he  saw  her  at  all. 
Her  face  was  flushed  and  her  eyes  excited,  and  once  or 
twice  he  knew  they  were  talking  about  him.  He  was  ex- 
ceedingly vexed  and  curious,  and  then  vexed  with  himself 

17 


194  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

for  wasting  a  thought  upon  it ;  but  the  fact  is,  Margaret 
had  interested  him  more  than  he  had  any  idea, — the  variety 
in  her  character  gave  him  a  constant  desire  to  understand 
her.  That  she  did  herself  injustice,  at  all  times,  he  could 
plainly  see,  and  that  she  only  wanted  some  strong  influ- 
ence to  develop  her  good  qualities  he  could  also  guess; 
her  father  was  too  yielding, — too  much  afraid  of  provok- 
ing her  irritable  temper  to  oppose  her;  and  Jean's  influ- 
ence, which  might  have  been  of  benefit,  she  had  utterly 
rejected. 

It  had  occurred  to  him  more  than  once, — what  if  he 
could  be  such  a  friend  to  her  ?  It  would  be  worth  try- 
ing, at  any  rate.  He  was  just  beginning  to  hope  that  she 
would  learn  to  regard  him  in  such  a  light  when  the  un- 
fortunate little  encounter  of  this  evening  took  place,  and 
now  he  saw  a  man  whom  he  utterly  distrusted  apparently 
obtaining  an  influence  over  her. 

"  Hallo,  Murray  !  what  is  the  matter  ?"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
liams. "  You  are  not  in  party  trim,  man, — you  look  as  if 
you  had  lost  your  best  friend." 

"  Look  here,  Williams,"  was  the  answer,  "  who  is  that 
man  Burton  ?  I  heard  you  introduce  him  as '  your  friend* 
to  Miss  Holcombe." 

"  Indeed  I  don't  know, — he  is  only  my  friend  as  of 
course  everybody  is  whom  I  meet  in  this  house.  I  never 
met  him  until  to-night  ;  but  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"Simply  because  I  do  not  like  the  man  at  all." 

Mr.  Williams  laughed  meaningly,  and  said,  "  No,  I 
suppose  not;  I  should  not,  either,  under  the  circum- 
stances." 

Mr.  Murray  turned  on  him  and  said,  "  What  do  you 
mean? — I  am  utterly  at  a  loss  to  understand  you." 

"Well,  I  sha'n't  explain,  I  promise  you." 

"  It  is  not  possible,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  reddening,  "that 


MISS  HOLCOMBE'S  DEBUT.  195 

you  imagine  for  an  instant  that  I  ana  interested  in  that 
child?" 

"  Well,  I  confess  I  did  have  such  an  idea.  She  is  no 
longer  a  child,"  said  Mr.  Williams. 

"  Xonsense ;  to  me  she  is.  She  is  not  my  style  of  a 
woman,  I  assure  you,  though  I  feel  interested  in  her  on 
account  of  her  family." 

"  Please  let  me  pass,"  said  a  voice.  And  they  turned  to 
find  Margaret  Holcombe  behind  them.  She  was  very  pale, 
but  except  that  which  might  have  been  the  effect  of  the 
cool  night  air  on  her, — for  the  gentlemen  were  standing  in 
the  door  of  the  hall,  and  she  must  have  come  up  the  steps 
from  the  lawn  the  moment  before, — there  was  no  sign  of 
discomposure  about  her.  She  bowed  as  she  passed,  in  her 
queenly  way. 

"  How  unfortunate  !"  said  Mr  Williams 

"  Exceedingly  so,  if  she  heard,"  said  his  companion. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  chance  against  that,"  said 
Mr.  Williams.  "  But  stop,  here  she  comes  again." 

She  came  back  enveloped  in  a  large  white  nubia, 
which  was  wound  around  her  head  and  neck.  If  she  had 
been  pale  before,  it  was  certainly  a  thing  of  the  past, — she 
never  looked  so  brilliant,  her  cheeks  were  almost  purple 
with  excessive  bloom,  and  her  eyes,  as  she  again  asked 
permission  to  pass,  were  flashing  with  wounded  pride, 
but  the  voice  was  perfectly  courteous  and  calm.  They  saw 
her  join  some  one  on  the  steps  and  wander  off  in  the 
moonlight. 

That  moment  was  a  revelation  to  Robert  Murray. 
He  knew  that  Margaret  Holcombe  was  the  only  woman 
in  the  world  for  him ;  that  it  was  not  the  wayward, 
proudly  sensitive  child  who  interested  him,  but  the  peer- 
less woman,  whom  he  must  win  for  himself  or  be  miser- 
able. 


196  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"  Where  is  Margaret  ?"  said  Mr.  Holcombe,  coming 
up  just  then.  "  They  want  to  announce  supper,  and  can- 
not do  it  until  she  is  here  to  lead  the  way." 

"  She  passed  us  just  now,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "  and  went 
in  that  direction,"  pointing  through  the  shrubbery. 

"  Can't  yon  just  step  out  there  and  call  her  for  me  ?  I 
have  to  go  back  to  Jean." 

He  did  not  say  it,  but  not  for  all  the  world  would  he 
have  gone  after  Margaret  Holcombe  then. 

"  I  will  see  she  gets  your  message,"  he  said,  and  went 
in  pursuit  of  John,  by  whom  he  sent  the  message  to  his 
sister. 

And  then  he  went  to  look  for  Mary  to  take  her  in  to 
supper,  but  he  found  he  was  too  late,  as  she  was  already 
dancing  along  on  Mr.  Williams's  arm.  He  turned  to 
look  for  Ellen,  but  she,  too,  was  provided  for,  and  he  had 
to  console  himself  with  a  poor  little  lady  who  had  adorned 
the  corner,  in  which  she  stood,  all  the  evening.  Ellen 
whispered  to  him  as  he  passed  her, — 

"I  see  Mr.  Murray  practices  as  well  as  preaches." 

His  next  encounter  was  with  Margaret  and  Dr.  Burton ; 
but  they  were  laughing  at  some  joke  and  did  not  seem  to 
see  him. 

He  heard  some  one  say  to  her,  "  Oh,  Margaret,  you 
have  lost  your  rose  !" 

"Have  I  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "  Well,  it  don't  matter, — I 
can  easily  get  another." 

His  companion  tried  to  chirp  agreeably  to  him,  and  he 
made  an  equal  effort  to  overcome  his  annoyance,  but  in 
vain,  for  wherever,  he  looked  there  was  Margaret,  and 
wherever  she  was  he  saw  the  source  of  his  discom- 
fort. 

The  supper  was  very  brilliant, — the  pyramids  of  can- 
died oranges  and  grapes,  with  the  straw  over  them  ;  the 


MISS  JTOL  COMBE'S  D&BUT.  197 

beautiful  white  cakes  ;  the  sparkling  jelly ;  indeed,  every- 
thing beautiful  and  tempting  was  found  there,  and  the 
company  did  ample  justice  to  the  preparations. 

They  soon  began  to  disperse  after  supper,  and  Robert 
Murray  retired  to  his  room,  having  learned  a  lesson  which 
all  Germany  and  the  Alps  had  never  taught  him. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

THE    TOURNAMENT. 

MOST  men  in  Robert  Murray's  position  would  have  (led 
from  the  danger,  but  that  course  was  foreign  to  his  dis- 
position. He  conceived  an  idea  strongly,  and  his  iron 
will  never  acknowledged  impossibilities. 

The  idea  of  going  away  now,  and  leaving  the  woman 
he  loved  to  be  carried  off  by  a  man  utterly  unworthy  of 
her,  he  never  thought  of;  indeed,  to  leave  her  at  all,  even 
to  think  of  her  as  belonging  to  any  one  else,  would  be 
impossible.  He  made  no  confidants,  nor  did  he,  like  an 
impulsive  boy,  rush  madly  forward  into  the  heat  of  the 
battle,  but  like  a  wary,  experienced  commander  he  sur- 
veyed the  field  and  bided  his  time. 

He  never  avoided  her,  but  he  never  sought  her.  It  was 
like  death  to  him  sometimes  to  see  Burton  lifting  her  into 
her  saddle  and  riding  off  with  her;  but  he  never  inter- 
fered. He  felt  safe  so  far ;  he  knew  that  though  the  im- 
pulse of  the  moment  might  lend  a  fascination  to  his 
attentions,  that  such  a  man  as  Burton  could  never  satisfy 
the  cravings  of  Margaret  Holcombe's  nature.  There  was 
one  thing,  however,  which  he  did  not  know,  and  there- 
fore could  not  take  into  consideration ;  but  I  will  not 
anticipate. 

Meanwhile  Dr.  Burton  was  a  constant  visitor  at  Rose 
Hill,  and  Margaret  seemed  to  encourage  his  visits  ;  but 
her  temper  was  more  fitful  and  wayward  than  ever.  Mr. 
Williams  returned  home,  and  the  household  settled  down 
to  its  usual  quiet  sobriety.  I  say  the  household ;  but 
(198) 


THE  TOURNAMENT.  199 

there  were  exceptions  to  this  rule.  Invitations  poured  in 
from  all  quarters  upon  Margaret,  Ellen,  and  Mr.  Murray; 
entertainments  were  the  order  of  the  day  ;  scarce  twenty- 
four  hours  passed  without  the  carriage  or  riding-horses 
being  ordered  out. 

Margaret  engaged  in  everything  with  a  zest  which  aston- 
ished her  friends,  as  her  character  had  never  indicated  this 
element.  On  the  contrary,  her  love  of  solitude  and  rather 
brooding  temper  led  them  to  expect  a  different  course ; 
but  now  she  was  never  satisfied  unless  she  had  something 
in  prospect.  Her  belleship  was  firmly  established ;  her 
beauty  and  wit  were  the  topic  of  conversation  everywhere ; 
but  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  she  was  constantly  in 
requisition,  that  whenever  she  made  her  appearance  in  so- 
ciety she  was  the  center  of  an  admiring  crowd,  who  flat- 
tered her  vanity  and  laughed  at  her  quick  repartee,  she  felt 
that  she  was  not  altogether  popular.  Her  own  sex  were 
disposed  to  search  out  and  comment  on  the  flaws  in  her 
character,  because  she  absorbed  so  much  of  the  attention 
of  the  other  sex ;  and  the  gentlemen  had  so  many  of  them 
winced  under  the  arrows  of  her  sarcastic  tongue,  that 
although  they  still,  like  foolish  moths,  buzzed  around  the 
dazzling  light,  it  was  always  with  a  recollection  that, 
beautiful  as  it  was,  the  flame  could  scorch  and  singe  their 
precious  wings. 

It  was  no  wonder,  then,  that  she  often  turned  with  a 
feeling  of  relief  to  Dr.  Burton,  who  never  allowed  him- 
self to  be  rebuffed,  and  was  always,  no  matter  in  what 
temper  he  had  last  found  his  divfhity,  ready  to  return  to 
the  charge,  with  no  vestige  of  recollection  of -former 
blows.  Her  general  feeling  with  regard  to  this  gentle- 
man was  contempt.  A  proud  woman  like  Margaret 
Holcombe  is  not  apt  to  conceive  a  real  liking  for  anything 
mean-spirited  in  the  other  sex,  and  the  imperturbable 


200  THE  nOLCOMBES. 

good  nature  and  forbearance  under  such  provocation  as 
she  often  afforded  him  made  her  utterly  careless  with  re- 
gard to  her  words  and  actions  to  him. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Murray  watched  her  with  the  deepest 
anxiety ;  he  saw  that  some  wretchedness  was  tugging  at 
her  heart,  and  that  this  reckless  course  of  dissipation  was 
nothing  but  a  cover  for  her  real  feelings ;  he  remem- 
bered the  day  in  the  library,  when  she  had  spoken  so 
candidly  of  her  hours  of  self-torture,  and  he  wondered  if 
she  were  not  now  avoiding  a  meeting  with  herself  face 
to  face!  With  regard  to  Dr.  Burton,  he  often  doubted 
if  it  was  not  his  duty  to  speak  a  word  of  warning  to  Mr. 
Holcombe ;  but  then  the  feeling  of  delicacy  engendered 
by  b's  own  position  with  regard  to  him  kept  him  silent, 
as  he  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  seeming  to  calumniate  a 
rival. 

A  rival — the  idea!  Margaret  Holcombe  would  have 
curled  her  lip  contemptuously  at  such  a  suggestion.  The 
cold,  proud  man, — she  believed  he  really  disliked  her ;  or, 
as  he  had  said  that  night,  he  felt  an  interest  in  her  on 
"account  of  her  family." 

"  More  invitations !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Holcombe,  in  comic 
dismay,  as  he  walked  into  the  breakfast-room  one  morn- 
ing early  in  September  and  threw  a  pile  of  envelopes  on 
the  table.  "  There  is  no  rest  for  the  wicked  ;  and  if  that  be 
so,  my  poor  horses  must  be  the  most  wretched  sinners 
that  ever  lived.  Where  is  it,  Margaret?"  for  Margaret 
had  seized  on  her  note  and  opened  it. 

"  Oh,  delightful !"  was  the  answer.     "  Just  hear." 

"  '  The  gentlemen  of  C request  the  pleasure  of  your 

presence  in  Clarke's  Grove  to  a  Tournament,  on  Tuesday 
next,  at  three  o'clock. 

"  '  Committee  of  Arrangements. — William  Marshall, 
Charles  Clarke,  Henry  Dandrrdge,  John  Tucker.' " 


THE  TOURNAMENT.  201 

And  Margaret  and  Ellen  both  expressed  unqualified  de- 
light that,  at  last,  there  was  some  prospect  of  a  variety 
in  their  amusements. 

"  Well,"  said  Mary,  her  usually  bright  face  clouding 
over,  "  I  wish  I  was  grown,  too, — it  is  so  dull  to  stay  at 
home  all  by  myself." 

"  Never  mind,  Mary,"  said  John,  "  we  won't  go  into 
such  general  society ;  we  will  be  more  select,  and  have  a 
tournament  all  to  ourselves, — I  will  ride  for  you  and  you 
for  me,  and  then,  you  know,  there  is  no  danger  of  any  bad 
feeling." 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  Johnny, "said  Mary,  laughing; 
"  but  that  is  very  dull  work, — I  am  too  used  to  you, — I 
want  somebody  new  to  ride  for  me." 

"  Won't  I  answer  your  purpose,  Miss  Mary  ?"  said 
Mr.  Murray ;  "  or  am  I  too  big,  and  not  new  enough, 
either?" 

"  Oh,  no  !"  said  Mary,  clapping  her  hands,  "  that  would 
be  splendid,  if  I  could  only  go,  and  have  you  for  my 
knight ;  I  would  give  you  a  blue  ribbon,  my  color,  to  tie 
on  your  lance." 

"  Would  you  let  her  go  if  she  had  an  invitation  ?"  said 
Mr.  Murray,  turning  to  Mr.  Holcombe. 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  what  do  you  say,  mamma?" 

.."Well,"  said  Jean,  smiling  at  Mary's  eager  face,  "I 
think  for  this  once,  as  she  goes  away  to  school  next 
month  ;  but  how  can  she  go  without  an  invitation  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  will  manage  that,"  said  Mr.  Murray :  "  nothing 
easier.  I  shall  ride  into  C this  morning  to  get  ad- 
mission to  the  knighthood,  and  of  course  they  will  be 
delighted  to  send  an  invitation  to  this  young  lady.  I 
sha'n't  ride  unless  I  am  permitted  to  ride  for  her." 

In  looking  towards  Mary  his  eyes  fell  on  Margaret ; 
her  face  was  bent  on  her  plate,  while  the  blood  looked  as 


202  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

if  it  would  burst  from  her  cheeks.  She  raised  her  eyes 
for  a  moment  and  caught  his  gaze  fixed  on  her  with  a 
puzzled  expression ;  the  haughty  head  was  thrown  back 
at  once,  and  she  said,  "  Oh,  yes,  of  course  Mary  can 
go ;  she  will  make  a  splendid  Queen  of  Love  and 
Beauty." 

"And  oh,  Margie,"  said  Mary,  in  childish  delight, 
"  what  must  I  wear?" 

"  Time  enough  for  that  important  decision,  Mary,"  said 
Jean,  "  as  it  is  still  nearly  a  week  off." 

Mary's  invitation  was  easily  obtained,  and  Mr.  Murray 
returned  with  the  honors  of  knighthood  upon  him. 

The  place  where  the  tournament  was  to  take  place 

was  a  beautiful  grove  a  short  distance  from  C ;  it 

seemed  almost  as  if  nature  designed  the  spot  for  some 
such  use  as  that  to  which  it  was  now  dedicated.  It  was  on 
the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  the  trees  grew  sparsely, 
leaving  a  wide  space  of  level  ground,  with  the  waving 
branches  forming  an  arch  above  it. 

The  scene  was  a  beautiful  one.  Seats  had  been  erected 
for  the  spectators  on  one  side,  near  enough  to  give  a  full 
view  of  the  sport,  and  the  gallant  knights,  with  their 
fanciful  dresses,  clustered  together  at  the  end  of  the 
ground,  while  the  bright  scarfs  of  the  marshals  flitted 
around  gayly  as  their  wearers  dashed  about  among  the 
trees. 

The  seats  were  crowded  with  bright-eyed  damsels, 
whose  gay  dresses  and  laughing  voices  added  to  the  gen- 
eral hilarity. 

"Just  look  at  Margaret  Holcombe,"  whispered  Jennie 
Clarke  to  her  neighbor,  Annie  Campbell ;  "  she  is  evi- 
dently expecting  to  wear  the  crown  to-night." 

" She  ought  certainly  to  do  it,"  was  the  quiet  answer; 
"  there  is  no  girl  here  who  can  compare  with  her.  If  I 


THE  TOURNAMENT.  203 

were  chosen  Queen,  of  which  I  have  no  idea,  I  should 
abdicate  in  favor  of  the  rightful  sovereign, — she  is  per- 
fectly regal  to-day." 

And  so  she  was,  in  her  simple,  white  muslin  dress 
and  rich,  scarlet  ribbons,  with  bright  flowers  in  her  hair, 
Margaret  Holcombe  possessed  that  advantage  for  want 
of  which  so  many  women  of  decided  beauty  throw  away 
their  claims  to  it, — she  knew  just  what  to  wear  and  how 
to  wear  it.  As  long  as  the  season  would  allow,  her  dress 
was  pure  white,  because  she  knew  that  the  contrast  with 
her  dark  hair  and  eyes  and  brilliant  complexion  made  it 
the  most  becoming  for  her.  Exquisitely  neat  in  every- 
thing, whatever  she  put  on  was  the  purest,  the  smoothest, 
and  of  the  finest  texture.  No  one  ever  saw  Margaret 
Holcombe  with  anything  on  with  a  flaw  in  it.  Dainty  in 
all  of  her  tastes,  it  became  second  nature  to  her  to  make 
her  dress  perfect  in  its  simplicity  and  purity,  and  perfect 
in  its  adaptedncss  to  her  style  of  beauty. 

Mary  used  to  say  that  she  believed  Margie  could  jump 
over  the  house  and  come  down  without  a  wrinkle  or  a 
tear  in  her  dress,  and  if  she  sat  still  in  the  house  hers 
would  be  out  of  order  in  some  way. 

But  the  band  begins  to  play,  and  the  brilliant  array  of 
knights  rode  through  the  lists,  their  mettled  steeds  pranc- 
ing and  curveting  or  restrained  by  the  grinding  bit  to  the 
mincing  gait  of  restricted  freedom.  They  rode  two  and 
two,  and  filing  in  front  of  the  seats  occupied  by  the  ladies, 
doffed  their  plumed  caps  and  bowed  low,  with  chivalrous 
acknowledgment  of  the  presence  of  youth  and  loveli- 
ness. 

They  were  a  gallant  company, — most  of  them  sons  of 
old  Virginia,  whose  skill  in  the  science  of  horsemanship 
is  so  justly  renowned.  Foremost  of  the  band  rode  a 
kingly  figure  —  a  Saul  among  his  fellows! — who  bore 


204  THE  HOLCOMDES. 

upon  his  breastplate  the  white  and  red  roses  of  England 
prettily  blended,  and  the  blue  of  his  shoulder-knot  had  its 
counterpart  in  the  ribbons  which  adorned  the  dress  of 
Mary  Holcombe.  It  was  the  Knight  of  St.  George  !  And 
happily  had  he  chosen  the  name,  for  he  wore  well  the 
character  of  a  Saxon  knight,  with  his  dress  of  blue  and 
silver  and  the  long,  white  plume  which  drooped  upon  his 
shoulder  mingling  with  his  magnificent  beard. 

Mary  was  wild  with  delight,  clapped  her  hands  and 
laughed  like  the  child  she  was.  "  Oh,  Margie  !"  she  said, 
"  my  knight  is  the  handsomest  of  any  of  them  !"  But 
Margaret  did  not  respond  ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 

orator  of  the  day,  a  young  lawyer  of  C ,  Mr.  Tucker, 

who  now  stepped  forward  to  deliver  the  charge  to  the 
knights. 

"  Sir  Knights,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  appointed  by  you 
to  the  pleasing  duty  of  introducing  you  to  the  field  upon 
which  you  are  about  to  exercise  your  prowess.  The 
knights  of  old,  inured  to  hardship  and  danger,  gladly 
turned  from  the  bloody  battlefield  to  reap  their  reward  at 
the  hands  of  the  fair.  You  have  no  such  stirring  expe- 
riences as  theirs,  thank  God!  and  grant  that  you  never 
may  have ;  but  nevertheless  each  one  of  you  is  daily 
fighting  the  battle  of  life,  in  which,  it  is  true,  no  blood  is 
shed,  but  in  which  heart  and  brain  are  deeply  engaged. 
From  this  field  you  turn  aside,  like  true  disciples  of  chiv- 
alry, to  do  your  devoirs  at  the  shrine  of  Beauty, — in  a 
cause,  let  me  say,  which  always  fires  the  heart  and  nerves 
the  arm  of  the  brave. 

"  I  see  that  each  of  you,  in  entering  upon  this  contest 
in  imitation  of  the  founders  of  chivalry,  has  assumed  the 
colors  of  the  lady  of  his  choice.  Then  let  him  remem- 
ber that  in  so  doing  he  assumes  also  a  responsibility,  for 
her  sovereignty  in  the  Court  of  Love  and  Beauty  rests 


THE  TOURNAMENT.  205 

upon  his  prowess, — her  eyes  are  upon  him,  with  his  suc- 
cess or  failure  she  stands  or  falls. 

"  I  therefore  charge  you,  Sir  Knights,  in  the  name  of 
chivalry,  to  be  wary  and  watchful ;  let  your  earnestness 
in  action  attest  your  earnestness  of  purpose  and  your 
sense  of  the  importance  of  the  task  you  have  undertaken, 
and  I  feel  assured  that  your  reward  will  be  commensurate 
with  your  effort,  in  the  smile  of  approbation  from  the  rosy 
lips  of  her  who  shall  wear  your  crown." 

He  bowed  and  retired,  and  the  knights  riding  forward 
in  the  same  order  in  which  they  had  advanced,  turned  at 
the  end  of  the  ground  and  rode  back  again  to  the  point 
from  which  they  started,  exchanging,  as  they  passed, 
salutations  with  the  ladies  of  their  choice. 

It  might  be  remarked  that  three  knights  wore  the  scar- 
let ribbon  of  the  shade  which  adorned  the  dress  of  Mar- 
garet Holcombe, — the  Knight  of  Rose  Hill  (Mr.  Camp- 
bell), the  Knight  of  Virginia  (Mr.  Dandridge),  and  Brian 
de  Bois  Guilbert  (Dr.  Burton)  ;  but,  like  Haman  of  old, 
all  of  her  honors  were  nothing  so  long  as  "Mordecai  the 
Jew  sat  at  the  king's  gate." 

"  How  does  it  happen,"  said  Mr.  Tucker,  taking  a  seat 
between  Mary  and  herself,  "  that  you  have  allowed  this 
small  sister  of  yours  to  carry  off  the  prize  yonder,  in  the 
person  of  the  Knight  of  St.  George  ?" 

The  tone  was  very  indifferent  which  answered,  "Per- 
haps I  did  not  consider  it  a  prize  worth  trying  for." 

Mr.  Tucker  laughed,  and  said,  "  Perhaps  not ;  but  I 
think  you  are  a  lady  of  too  much  taste  to  avow  such  an 
opinion.  I  never  saw  a  finer-looking  man." 

"  I  don't  estimate  my  goods  by  weight,"  said  she,  "  for- 
tunately for  you,  Mr.  Tucker ;  I  would  rather  have  a  small 
diamond  than  a  large  pebble." 

18 


206  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"Hands  off,  now,"  said  he,  in  pretended  fright;  "I 
won't  be  handled  without  gloves." 

"  Why,  you  have  nothing  to  complain  of,"  said  she, 
laughing,  "  you  are  the  small  diamond." 

"Ain't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Margie  ? — you  know 
Mr.  Murray  is is  splendid,"  said  Mary. 

"  We  will  be  able  to  judge  now,"  said  she  coolly,  as  the 
bugle  sounded  and  the  Herald  called, — 

"  The  Knight  of  St.  George,  come  into  the  court !"  And 
Black  Festus,  proudly  arching  his  neck,  moved  forward, 
while  his  rider,  poising  his  lance,  bent  his  eye  keenly 
upon  the  ring  which  hung  midway  of  the  lists. 

"He  stoops  to  conquer  !"  said  Mr.  Tucker,  as  the  tall 
figure  bent  forward  in  his  saddle. 

"  He  stoops  to  fail !"  said  Margaret,  as  he  rode  off 
without  the  ring.  The  words  were  against  him  ;  the  tone 
of  disappointment  which  accompanied  them  betrayed  her 
sympathies. 

"  That  is  too  bad  !"  said  Mary.  "  Never  mind  ;  I  hope 
no  one  else  will  take  it,  either." 

"  You  dog  in  the  manger  1"  said  Mr  Tucker. 

"  The  Knight  of  Ivanhoe,  come  into  the  court !"  said 
the  Herald. 

"  Here  comes  my  young  brother,"  said  Mr.  Tucker, 
"  and  he  wears  Miss  Randolph's  colors.  Calm  yourself, 
Miss  Ellen.  There  !  I  knew  he  was  good  for  it,"  as  the 
shouts  and  music  from  the  band  announced  his  triumph. 

"  Brian  de  Bois  Guilbert,  come  into  the  court !"  cried 
the  Herald. 

"Now,  Miss  Holcombe,  here  conies  the  scarlet  rib- 
bons." And  so  each  one  of  the  knights  rode  in  his  turn 
with  varied  success.  After  six  rounds  the  contest  lay 
between  the  four  most  successful, — the  Knight  of  St. 


THE   TOURNAMENT.  207 

George,  the  Knight  of  Ivanhoe,  the  Knight  of  Rose  Hill, 
and  the  Knight  of  Brandon. 

Mr.  Murray  had  never  failed  after  the  first  time,  and 
Mary  was  greatly  excited. 

"  There,  he  has  it  again !"  said  she,  clapping  her  hands. 
"  I  almost  feel  the  crown  on  my  head." 

This  time  the  Knight  of  Brandon  and  the  Knight  of 
Ivanhoe  failed  and  were  withdrawn,  and  the  contest  lay 
between  Archy  Campbell  and  Mr.  Murray.  They  were 
so  equally  matched  that  no  one  could  predict  which 
would  bear  off  the  highest  honors. 

Time  after  time  they  rode  and  carried  off  the  ring, 
until  Mr.  Tucker,  becoming  impatient  of  the  delay,  said, 
"  Those  fellows  have  become  so  accustomed  to  taking  that 
ring  they  couldn't  miss  it  if  they  were  to  try."  But  it 
was  differently  determined  by  one  of  the  parties  con- 
cerned. Robert  Murray,  tired  of  the  long  contest,  and 
in  his  heart  of  hearts  preferring  his  defeat  to  his  success, 
determined  to  put  an  end  to  it,  and  as  he  rode  up  to- 
wards the  ring  dug  his  spurs  into  the  side  of  Black  Fes- 
tus  with  such  force  as  to  make  him  swerve  to  one  side, 
and  the  ring  hung  unharmed  on  the  wire ;  but  the  met- 
tled animal,  enraged  and  frightened,  dashed  off  among 
the  trees  at  mad  speed  before  his  rider  could  regain  full 
command  of  him. 

"  Heavens!  he  will  be  killed  !"  said  Mr.  Tucker,  as  the 
infuriated  animal  dashed  on  through  the  thick  under- 
growth. Mary  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  the  terrified 
girls  all  around  shrieked,  cried,  or  fainted  after  the  man- 
ner of  women.  Mr.  Tucker  heard  a  sound  beside  him 
like  a  person  choking ;  he  turned  around.  Margaret  Hpl- 
combe  had  risen  and  stood  beside  him ;  her  face  as  white 
as  the  dress  she  wore ;  one  hand  pressed  upon  her  heart, 
and  her  head  stretched  forward  in  the  direction  of  the 


208  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

mad  equestrian,  while  her  breath  came  in  thick  gasps 
from  her  pallid  lips. 

"Safe!  safe!"  was  echoed  through  the  woods,  and 
Margaret  Holcombe  sank  into  her  seat  and  the  blood 
rushed  back  to  her  cheeks. 

"  'Tis  only  a  pebble,  Miss  Holcombe,"  said  Mr.  Tucker, 
turning  to  her  and  smiling. 

Surely  the  pride  must  have  been  indomitable  in  the 
girl's  heart  who  could  answer  with  such  a  cool,  sarcastic 
smile  after  such  terrible  agitation, — 

"  'Tis  true,  perhaps  ;  and  yet  one  does  not  like  to  see 
the  useless  waste  of  stones,  even." 

Mr.  Tucker  looked  puzzled.  She  was  an  enigma  to 
him ;  he  could  not  pronounce  her  wanting  in  heart,  be- 
cause he  had  seen  her  face  of  agony.  He  said, — 

"  You  women  are  curious  creatures, — I  can't  find  you 
out.  I  don't  know  any  more  about  you  now  than  when 
I  began  the  study." 

"  I  never  knew  one  of  your  sex  get  on  this  subject  be- 
fore," said  Margaret,  "  without  quoting  on  us, — 

'  Oh,  woman,  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please/  etc. 

I  am  so  glad  you  did  not.  I  have  a  much  better  opinion 
of  you  for  the  omission.  I  always  cut  an  acquaintance 
who  quotes  trite  poetry  on  me, — I  can't  stand  it." 

"  You  cut  them  sometimes  without  that  grave  offense," 
said  he,  laughing.  "Poor  Burton!  I  pity  him  some- 
times." 

"  Reserve  your  sympathies  for  a  more  worthy  object, 
Mr.  Tucker.  Dr.  Burton  wears  a  coat  of  mail  no  arrow 
of  mine  will  ever  pierce." 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  he. 

"  Imperturbable  good  temper ;  he  is  a  perfect  example 


THE  TOURNAMENT.  209 

to  some  of  you  hot-heads.  It  is  such  a  relief  to  get  with 
a  person  you  can  say  what  you  choose  to  and  feel  per- 
fectly confident  that  there  is  no  danger  of  their  getting 
angry ;  but  the  knight  had  better  keep  clear  of  me  this 
evening, — I  am  keeping  a  sharpened  arrow  for  him." 

"  Why,  poor  fellow !  you  ought  to  sympathize  with 
him  in  his  misfortune  ;  but  his  riding  was  absurd."  And 
Mr.  Tucker  laughed. 

"Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  hate  to  see  any  one  attempt 
a  thing  and  fail ;  he  has  no  more  idea  of  riding  than  if 
he  had  never  seen  a  horse.  And  the  idea  of  placing  him- 
self in  competition  with  these  Virginia  boys,  who  ride 
like  centaurs!  And  then,  too,  I  confess,  one  does  not  like 
to  see  their  colors^  degraded.  If  he  had  worn  any  other 
color  I  should  not  have  minded  half  as  much." 

"  Ah  !  ha!  there's  where  the  shoe  pinches,  is  it  ?"  said 
her  companion.  "  It  was  Miss  Holcombe  who  was  affected 
by  it, — Miss  Holcombe's  pride  was  hurt." 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  throwing  up  her  head  and  look- 
ing like  a  full-mettled  Arabian.  "  Miss  Holcombe  does  not 
deny  her  pride, — she  always  hopes  to  keep  herself  above 
disgrace  of  every  kind." 

Just  then  Mr.  Murray  rode  into  the  lists  unhurt,  though 
a  good  deal  out  of  breath  from  his  contest  with  Black 
Festus.  Every  one  crowded  around  him  to  congratulate 
him  upon  his  escape.  It  had  indeed  been  a  very  narrow 
one,  as  the  mad  animal  carried  him  through  the  thick 
woods,  and  his  clothes  in  more  than  one  place  showed 
where  he  had  been  violently  brushed  against  the  trees. 
He  may  be  pardoned  if  he  glanced  towards  Margaret 
Holcombe  to  see  if  she  had  felt  even  an  ordinary  amount 
of  anxiety  for  him  in  his  danger.  His  thought  had  been 
of  her  through  the  whole  of  it,  but  he  could  not  think 

18* 


210  THE  UOL  COMBES. 

she  had  even  heard  of  it, — she  looked  so  calm  and  uncon- 
cerned as  she  jested  with  Mr.  Tucker.  Mary,  on  the 
contrary,  had  not  yet  dried  her  tears,  and  more  than  one 
of  the  young  ladies  prolonged  their  hysterics  until  his 
arrival. 

It  was  at  once  proposed  that  the  last  trial  should  be 
taken  over  again ;  but  Mr.  Murray  would  not  hear  of  it, 
and  seemed  irritated  at  the  suggestion.  So  Margaret 
Holcombe  won  the  highest  honors. 

It  was  decided  to  adjourn  to  Dr.  Campbell's,  where  an 
entertainment  had  been  prepared,  and  the  coronation 
would  take  place. 

The  doctor  lived  at  the  entrance  to  the  town,  in  a  large 
brick  house  ;  he  had  a  good  many  children,  and  was  al- 
ways highly  delighted  to  have  his  house  full  of  young 
people.  He  met  them  at  the  door  with  his  hearty  wel- 
come, and  was  delighted  to  hear  that  "  Archy"  had  won 
the  day,  and,  above  all,  had  "  shown  such  taste  in  the 
selection  of  his  queen,"  said  he,  bowing  low  to  Marga- 
ret with  old-fashioned,  courtly  grace. 

"That  is  as  much  as  to  say  I  would  not  have  made  a 
good  queen,"  said  Jennie  Clarke,  pouting. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Jennie,  I'll  ride  for  you  myself  next  time, 
if  the  old  lady  will  let  me."  And  he  led  the  way  into 
the  parlors,  where  Mrs.  Campbell  and  her  daughter 
waited  to  do  the  honors.  The  girls  went  to  work  to  im- 
provise a  throne,  bringing  into  requisition  all  the  bright 
draperies  the  establishment  could  afford.  It  consisted  of 
a  platform  made  of  some  convenient  pieces  of  furniture, 
covered  with  a  bright-green  carpet,  upon  which  was 
placed  the  doctor's  large  arm-chair,  which  was  covered 
with  crimson  draperies,  and  green  wreaths  hung  in  every 
direction. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  four  successful  knights  stepped  in, 


THE   TOURNAMENT.  211 

each  one  with  a  wreath  of  flowers.  Mr.  Tucker  rose, 
aud  taking  from  Archy  Campbell  his  coronet  formed  of 
scarlet  verbenas,  said,  speaking-  to  Margaret, — 

"  The  Knight  of  Rose  Hill  bids  me  crown  you,  lady, 
as  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty.  My  part  is  a  meager 
one, — I  can  only  place  the  crown  upon  your  brow,  where 
nature  has  been  beforehand  with  me  in  stamping  the  im- 
press of  sovereignty." 

Margaret  bowed  her  head,  and  he  placed  the  beautiful 
wreath  upon  her  coronet  of  dark  hair ;  then  turning  to 
Mr.  Murray,  he  received  from  him  a  wreath  of  white  rose- 
buds, and  said, — 

"It  is  fitting  that  the  fair  sister  of  our  noble  queen 
should  occupy  the  position  nearest  her  person,  and  the 
Knight  of  St.  George  presents  this,  the  highest  honor  in 
his  gift,  to  Miss  Mary  Holcombe.  Kneel,  fair  lady." 

Mary,  with  a  face  of  perfect  happiness,  knelt  before 
him,  and  rose  up  crowned  with  the  simple  flowerets. 

The  next  was  a  wreath  of  green  ivy-leaves,  and  receiv- 
ing them,  he  said, — 

"  The  Knight  of  Brandon  thus  greets  the  lady  of  his 
choice.  Had  fortune  favored  him  she  would  have  graced 
the  throne." 

Here  Jennie  Clarke  knelt  and  received  her  crown. 

The  next  was  a  wreath  of  violets  and  heart's-ease.  He 
said, — 

"  The  modest  violet  has  been  appropriately  chosen  by 
the  Knight  of  Ivanhoe  to  deck  the  brow  of  Miss  Ellen 
Randolph.  How  well  she  deserves  the  compliment  we 
can  all  vouch  who  have  seen  her  efforts  to  conceal  herself, 
until  drawn  into  notice  by  her  friends." 

Then  came  the  royal  quadrille  to  the  simple  music  of 
the  piano,  and  the  evening  progressed  merrily. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Holcombe,"  said  Dr.  Burton,  coming  up  to 


212  TI1E  HOLCOMBES. 

Margaret  as  she  had  just  seated  herself  in  a  recess,  out 
of  breath  with  dancing-,  "  at  last  I  manage  to  get  near  to 
you.  I  have  not  been  able  even  to  congratulate  you  upon 
the  success  of  the  day,  in  which,  as  usual,  your  star  was 
the  brightest." 

"  It  is  of  not  the  smallest  consequence,"  said  she,  ele- 
vating her  eyebrows;  "  I  thought  you  had  done  so." 

The  doctor  looked  rather  mortified. 

"  Or  rather,"  he  said,  willing  to  give  a  complimentary 
turn  to  her  remark,  "you  know  so  well  what  I  think  that 
you  may  well  imagine  what  my  speech  would  be." 

She  only  bowed  her  head  haughtily. 

"But,  ah,"  he  continued,  "  if  the  honor  had  only  been 
mine  to  place  that  crown  upon  your  head  !  but,  alas  !  the 
fates  were  against  me." 

"  Say  rather  you  were  against  yourself,"  said  Mar- 
garet, cm-ling  her  lip.  "  I  believe  you  did  not  take  the 
ring  once." 

"  No"  was  the  answer  ;  "  the  fact  is  my  horse  was  such 
a  miserable  affair " 

"  That  he  furnishes  you  with  an  excuse  for  failure," 
said  the  young  lady,  finishing  his  sentence. 

"  You  think  I  needed  one,  I  suppose  ?"  said  he,  making 
rather  a  lame  attempt  to  be  amused. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  said  she  ;  "  you  remind  mo  of  all  sorts 
of well,  of  all  sorts  of  uncomplimentary  things." 

"  What,  for  instance  ?"  said  Dr.  Burton.  "  Don't  spare 
me,  you  know  I  like  to  see  you  amused  ;"  but  it  must 
be  confessed  he  looked  rather  uncomfortable  at  the  license 
he  had  allowed. 

"  Well,  since  you  want  to  hear,  like  a  poor  boy  at  a 
frolic!  a  fish  out  of  water  !"  And  she  felt  like  adding,  like 
a  presumptuous  fool  who  aspires  to  a  position  for  which 
he  has  no  vocation. 


THE   TOURNAMENT.  213 

"  You  are  hard  on  me,  Miss  Holcombe  ;  you  should  not 
visit  my  misfortunes  upon  me." 

"  I  only  visit  your  folly  upon  you,  Dr.  Burton  ;  I  would 
not  eat  my  breakfast  if  I  did  not  think  I  could  not  do  it 
well;  and  besides,  I  was  unfortunately  concerned  in  your 
failure,  as  you  dragged  my  colors  down  with  you." 

"  Forgive  me,  my  dear  Miss  Holcombe,"  he  said. 

But  she  interrupted  him  with  "  Never  mind  append- 
ing an  adjective  to  my  name,  I  don't  like  the  habit." 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said;  "you  are  so  very  particular." 
•  Then  followed  a  long  silence,  in  which  Margaret's  con- 
science began  to  annoy  her, — it  was  one  of  those  dreaded 
controversies  with  herself. 

"  How  rude  I  am !"  she  said  to  herself.  "  Here  is 
this  poor  little  man  who  has  disgraced  himself  in  an 
effort  to  honor  me,  and  I  add  to  his  mortification  by  my 
taunts, — how  mean  that  is  !  I  wonder  any  one  should 
like  me." 

The  impulse  led  her  to  turn  to  her  companion  with  the 
most  winning  smile  she  could  command  and  say,  gently, — 

"  Dr.  Burton,  I  wonder  you  do  not  resent  my  rudeness 
to  you  sometimes, — you  are  a  perfect  miracle  of  patience 
and  forbearance.  I  don't  know  any  one  in  the  world  who 
would  bear  with  me  as  you  do." 

"  And  can't  you  guess  the  reason,  Miss  Holcombe  ?" 
said  the  doctor,  eagerly. 

She  knew  what  was  coming  now,  but  it  was  too  late 
to  stop  it. 

"  Because,"  he  continued,  interpreting  her  silence  into 
a  permission  to  go  on,  "there  is  no  one  in  the  world 
who  cares  for  you  as  I  do.  I  would  rather  suffer  your 
displeasure  than  absent  myself  from  you.  Oh,  Miss 
Holcombe,  say,  is  there  no  reward  in  your  heart  for  my 
devotion  ?" 


214  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  you  except  as  a  friend,"  said  Mar- 
garet, in  a  low  voice. 

"  But  that  is  a  good  foundation  for  a  warmer  feeling," 
he  said  ;  "  I  can  wait  for  the  rest." 

Margaret  Holcombe's  manner  was  strangely  cool  as  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  and  said,  "  You  do  not  know 
what  you  ask,  Dr.  Burton.  I  would  make  your  life  mis- 
erable with  my  imperious  temper, — there  is  not  the 
shadow  of  a  chance  for  happiness  to  any  man  who 
marries  me."  And  a  tone  of  sadness  entered  her  voice. 

"Well,  no  matter;  if  I  am  willing  to  risk  it,  no  one 
has  a  right  to  object.  I  would  make  you  happy,  at  any 
rate, — you  should  never  have  a  wish  ungratified." 

"In  short,"  she  said,  her  lip  curling  again,  "you  are 
acting  Claude  Melnotte  to  perfection  ;  but  I  am  no  de- 
voted Pauline." 

He  did  not  seem  to  heed  her  sarcastic  tone,  but  went 
on,  earnestly, — 

"  Miss  Holcombe,  I  know  you  better  than  you  think : 
you  are  very  willful,  and  do  not  like  to  be  thwarted.  I 
promise  you,  on  my  honor  as  a  gentleman,  I  will  never 
interfere  with  your  wishes  in  any  way,  but  the  aim  of 
my  life  shall  bo  to  gratify  you  in  everything." 

She  smiled,  and  was  silent  for  some  minutes  ;  and  when 
she  spoke  it  was  as  if  she  recalled  her  thoughts  from 
some  far-off  region.  She  said, — 

"  I  would  rather  marry  my  master ;  and  failing  that,  I 
suppose  it  is  best  to  take  my  slave."  And  then  chang- 
ing her  tone,  she  said,  as  she  bent  her  eyes  upon  him, — 

"  Dr.  Burton,  is  it  possible  that,  knowing  me  as  you 
do,  and  telling  you  candidly  as  I  do,  that  I  do  not  love 
you;  that  I  feel  I  should  make  you  miserable;  that 
the  only  thing  which  could  induce  me  to  think  of  marry- 
ing you  would  be  that  I  know — that  I  feel — I  can  never 


THE   TOURNAMENT.  215 

be  happy,  because  I  am  not  the  style  (she  said  this  as  if 
it  was  a  quotation)  of  woman  to  win  the  only  sort  of  man 
who  could  make  me  happy  ?  Knowing  this,  if  I  married 
you,  it  would  be  that  I  might  have  my  own  will  in  every- 
thing. Are  you  still  willing  to  marry  me  ?" 

She  would  have  given  anything  if  he  had  said  "No." 
She  almost  thought  he  would  at  first ;  but  he  had  no  such 
idea, — there  was  too  much  at  stake  for  that.  He  an- 
swered, passionately, — 

"  Margaret  Holcombe,  knowing  all  this,  I  ask  you  to 
become  my  wife.  I  will  win  you  by  my  devotion, — I  do 
not  fear." 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  the 
light,  or  perhaps  to  hide  from  her  view  a  noble  figure 
which  just  then  entered  the  room,  and  sought  her  out 
with  his  eyes.  Perhaps  if  she  had  seen  the  shadow  of 
suffering  which  came  into  his  face  as  he  saw  her  com- 
panion, she  would  not  have  said,  as  she  did,  in  that  low 
tone, — 

"  Well,  take  me,  if  you  want  me." 

"  Thank  you  ;  ah,  thank  you  !"  was  the  answer. 

Mary  Holcombe  had  been  asleep  for  some  hours  that 
night,  when,  turning  over  suddenly,  she  caught  sight  of 
Margaret  sitting  before  the  window  with  her  head  buried 
in  her  hands.  She  had  not  undressed,  and  the  wreath 
of  scarlet  flowers,  ail  limp  and  fading,  still  adorned  her 
head. 

"  Why,  Margie,"  she  said,  raising  up,  "  what  upon  earth 
arc  you  doing  up  this  time  of  the  night  ?" 

"I  am  coming  now,  Mary,"  said  she,  rising  and  keep- 
ing her  face  turned  from  her  sister. 

She  forgot  the  mirror  which  she  faced,  and  which 
showed  Mary  a  tear-stained  face  and  pallid  cheeks.  She 
respected  her  evident  wish  to  be  unnoticed,  and  said  no- 


216  TIIE  HOLCOMBES. 

thing  more  ;  but  her  mind  was  so  busy  with  what  it  could 
be  that  could  make  her  sister  cry  when  she  had  just  been 
crowned  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  that  she  did  not 
feel  again  like  going  to  sleep,  but  lay  there  very  quietly 
until  Margaret  put  out  the  light  and  took  her  place  at  her 
side,  and  then  she  said, — 

"  Margie,  you  forgot  to  say  your  prayers." 
''Never  mind  me,  Mary,  go  to  sleep, — I  can  take  care 
of  myself,"  was  the  answer ;  but  it  suggested  to  her  the 
thought  that  she  dared  not  kneel  before  God  and  ask  Him 
to  prosper  her  in  what  she  had  that  night  undertaken. 

And  long  after  Mary  had  ceased  to  wonder  at  anything, 
and  lay  dreaming  happily  at  her  side,  did  Margaret  toss 
and  moan.  Daylight  was  creeping  in  at  the  windows 
before  exhausted  nature  found  repose. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

ASKING    PAPA. 

IT  was  during  the  progress  of  breakfast  the  next  morn- 
ing that  Uncle  Robin,  answering  a  call  at  the  door, 
brought  in  a  note  to  Mr.  Holcombe,  which  that  gentleman 
turned  over  and  over,  looked  at  through  and  through,  ex- 
amined the  seal,  and  at  last  wondered  who  in  the  world 
it  could  be  from. 

"  Papa,"  said  John,  laughing,  "  what  is  the  reason  peo- 
ple always  do  that  ?  It  would  be  so  much  easier  to  open 
the  letter  at  once,  and  see  who  it  was  from,  than  to  guess 
all  over  it  that  way." 

"  That's  true,  General,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe.  "Well, 
I  have  tried  my  way, — I  will  try  yours  now."  So  he 
broke  the  seal.  Now  Mr.  Holcombe  was,  besides  grow- 
ing a  little  gray,  beginning  to  hold  his  letters  and  books 
at  a  considerable  distance  from  him  when  he  read,  and  in 
the  seclusion  of  his  study  he  even  used  glasses, — so  that 
it  was  some  time  before  he  made  out  the  contents  of  his 
note,  and  he  interlarded  his  progress  with  exclamations 
which  considerably  whetted  the  curiosity  of  the  company 
to  know  its  contents. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  when  he  opened  it,  "  what  on  the 
earth  does  the  fellow  want  with  me  ?  '  Important  busi- 
ness !'  I  have  none  with  him,  that's  certain.  '  See  me  at 
my  earliest  convenience.'  My  earliest  pleasure  would  be 
fifty  years  from  now.  Indeed,  I  would  be  rather  pleased 
never  to  see  him  again." 

19  (21?) 


218  THE  HOL COMBES. 

"  Mr.  Holcombe,"  said  his  wife,  laughing,  "  please  re- 
lieve our  curiosity  and  tell  us  who  your  correspondent 
is." 

Mr.  Holcombe  read  aloud  : 

"  MY  DEAR  SIR, — What  time  may  I  have  a  private 
interview  with  you  ?  I  have  some  important  business  to 
consult  with  you  about,  and  would  be  glad  to  see  you  at 
your  earliest  convenience. 

"  Very  respectfully,  etc., 

"  WILLIAM  BURTON." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  there  is  no  help  for  it."  And  he  rose 
to  answer  the  note. 

Any  one  who  had  glanced  at  Margaret  Holcombe's 
face  as  her  father  read  this  note,  would  have  had  no  dif- 
ficulty in  guessing  that  in  some  way  or  other  she  was 
concerned  in  its  contents.  There  was  one  person  at  the 
table  who  generally  kept  himself  informed  as  to  the 
changes  in  its  expression.  This  person  glanced  at  her 
now ;  saw  the  blood  rush  in  torrents  over  her  entire 
countenance,  even  down  to  where  the  neat  little  collar 
clasped  her  throat,  and  then  recede,  leaving  her  as  pale 
as  death.  He  thought  for  an  instant  she  was  going  to 
faint,  but  she  did  not.  Exerting  wonderful  self-con- 
trol, she  recovered  herself  before  any  one  noticed  her ; 
and,  though  she  did  not  venture  any  remark,  her  silence 
was  not  noticed  except  by  Mr.  Murray.  His  heart  beat 
painfully  against  his  breast.  In  all  the  cause  he  had  had 
for  anxiety  in  the  past  few  weeks,  now  for  the  first  time 
.his  courage  failed  him, — he  had  trusted  so  implicitly  to 
the  true  nature  somewhere  hidden  in  Margaret  Hol- 
combe, which  in  a  decisive  moment  must  assert  itself  over 
the  vagaries  of  her  willful  temper.  But  this  was  going 
further  than  he  had  ever  imagined  she  could.  Of  course 


ASKING   PAPA.  219 

Dr.  Burton  must  have  her  permission  to  seek  this  inter- 
view, and  but  one  inference  could  be  drawn  from  her 
having  given  it.  He  had  been  blind,  but  now  it  was  no 
longer  possible  to  hide  from  himself  the  danger.  He 
went  out  from  the  dining-room,  and,  hastily  snatching  his 
hat,  walked  rapidly  away  in  the  direction  of  the  grove. 

It  is  in  the  nature  of  men,  even  the  best  of  them,  to 
value  what  is  hard  to  gain, — the  unattainable  is  the  object 
of  their  greatest  efforts.  Now,  if  Robert  Murray  had 
found  Margaret  a  pliable,  loving  girl,  ready  to  respond 
to  his  earliest  efforts  to  win  her  affections,  in  all  proba- 
bility his  feeling  would  never  have  attained  any  great  de- 
gree of  strength  ;  but  the  experience  he  had  suffered  since 
he  first  obtained  a  sight  of  his  heart,  had  caused  this 
feeling  to  gather  intensity  in  proportion  to  the  difficulties 
he  saw  to  the  accomplishment  of  his  desire.  He  flattered 
himself  that  he  could  bear  the  disappointment  for  him- 
self; but  to  see  her  so  false  to  herself, — to  see  her  seal 
the  misery  of  her  life  by  a  union  with  one  so  utterly 
unworthy  of  her,  as  he  believed  Burton  to  be,  was  hor- 
rible. 

It  may  be  asked  upon  what  he  founded  this  opinion. 
As  our  story  has  touched  but  meagerly  on  the  doctor's 
character,  it  must  be  confessed  that  Mr.  Murray  had  a 
prejudice  against  the  gentleman  to  begin  with,  dating 
from  the  night  of  the  entertainment  at  Rose  Hill,  on  ac- 
count not  only  of  his  insolence  to  him,  but  because  he 
felt  sure  that  he  had  made  a  representation  to  Margaret 
during  the  evening  which  had  produced  the  cloud  between 
them, — which  cloud  everything  since  had  tended  to  in- 
crease. But  this  was  not  all :  there  was  a  cringing,  un- 
manly manner  about  the  man,  when  with  Margaret,  which 
disgusted  him ;  and  once  or  twice  he  had  caught  a  sinis- 
ter expression  about  his  eye  when  she  would  make  one 


220  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

of  her  quick  retorts  to  him,  which  altogether  belied  his 
manner,  and  convinced  him  that  he  was  acting  a  part,  for 
a  purpose.  Margaret  Holcombe  was  no  despicable  match 
for  any  one,  apart  from  her  own  attractions,  and  literally 
nothing  was  known  of  Dr.  Burton ;  so  what  more  prob- 
able than  that  his  addresses  were  paid  to  her  dowry 
rather  than  to  herself.  All  of  these  thoughts  plied 
steadily  through  Mr.  Murray's  brain  as  he  paced  back- 
ward and  forward  in  the  grove.  The  heart  of  this  strong 
man  was  heavy  indeed.  The  situation  was  complicated. 
His  great  hope  was  in  Mr.  Holcombe,  whose  pride  of 
birth  and  every  other  consideration  would,  he  thought, 
oblige  him  to  withhold  his  consent,  at  least,  until  some- 
thing could  be  learned  about  the  gentleman  ;  and  if  this 
were  the  case,  it  would  give  him  more  time  to  counteract 
the  plans  of  the  gentleman,  and  "  who  knows  but  the 
lady  herself  might  recover  her  senses  ?"  And  his  hopes 
revived. 

He  was  aroused  from  his  reverie  by  the  sound  of 
horse's  hoofs,  and  in  a  moment  the  figure  of  Dr.  Burton 
appeared,  riding  in  his  own  ungraceful  style  on  a  gray 
horse.  He  showed  his  white  teeth  as  he  passed,  and  was 
soon  out  of  sight. 

We  will  now  transfer  ourselves  to  the  library,  where 
Mr.  Holcombe  awaited  his  unwelcome  visitor.  It  seems 
strange  that  Mr.  Holcombe  had  never  feared  this  result 
of  Dr.  Burton's  constant  visits ;  but  the  fact  is  he  had 
never  thought  of  his  daughter  as  eligible  for  matrimony; 
or  if  he  had,  his  confidence  in  Margaret's  pride  was  such 
that  the  idea  of  her  placing  her  affections  upon  a  name- 
less stranger  was  without  the  range  of  his  conjectures ; 
so  that  the  expression  which  met  the  doctor  when 
Robin  ushered  him  into  the  library  was  totally  un- 
suspicious of  the  object  of  his  visit. 


ASKING  PAPA.  221 

This  was  rather  unexpected  to  the  gentleman,  as  he 
thought  that  his  attentions  must  have  made  themselves 
understood  in  all  quarters.  He  took  his  seat,  fidgeted 
around,  looked  contemplatively  at  the  ceiling,  and  at  last 
said, — 

"  Fine  weather  this,  sir."  And  clapped  his  hands  as  if 
in  congratulation  at  having  at  least  made  a  commence- 
ment. 

"  Very,"  was  the  brief  reply,  as  Mr.  Holcombe  sat 
quietly  waiting  this  important  announcement. 

"  Planted  your  wheat  yet,  sir  ?" 

"  I  am  sowiny  it  now,  thank  you." 

A  long  silence  followed  this  last  essay,  and  again  the 
little  man's  eyes  sought  the  ceiling. 

Mr.  Holcombe  found  this  slow  work, — he  would  have 
to  assist. 

"  I  understood  from  your  note,  sir,  that  I  could  help 
you  in  some  important  business." 

"  Yes,  yes,  sir ;  I  do  wish  to  consult  you — in  fact — 
hm — your — rather  Miss  Holcombe  permitted  me  to  seek 
you — to  seek — this  interview  in  order — in  short,  sir,  to 
ask  for  your  consent  to  her  becoming  my  wife." 

If  the  sky  had  fallen  over  them  at  that  mpment  Mr. 
Holcombe  could  not  have  been  more  astonished. 

"  Margaret !"  he  ejaculated,  "  permitted  you  to  seek  me 
for  such  a  purpose  ?  Who  are  you,  sir  ?" 

The  tone  was  not  complimentary,  nor  calculated  to  en- 
courage a  timid  aspirant  for  matrimonial  honors.  He 
answered,  rather  faintly, — 

"  Who  am  I  ?     What  do  you  mean,  sir?" 

"  I  mean,  sir,  to  ask  you  to  tell  me  what  claim  you 
have  to  make  for  my  daughter's  hand,"  said  Mr.  Hol- 
combe. 

19* 


222  THE  HO L COMBES. 

"Her  permission  to  ask  you  for  it,"  said  the  doctor, 
with  some  appearance  of  offended  dignity. 

"  That  is  not  sufficient,  sir  ;  we  do  not  give  our  daugh- 
ters away  in  Virginia  upon  such  slender  claims  as  that. 
I  must  know  not  only  who  you  are,  but  who  your  parents 
were.  Had  you  the  wealth  of  John  Jacob  Astor  to  back 
your  suit  it  would  weigh  nothing  in  your  favor.  Show 
me  that  you  are  worthy  in  yourself,  and  that  my  daugh- 
ter in  going  to  you  would  not  be  degraded  below  the 
station  in  life  in  which  she  has  been  brought  up,  and  if  I 
find  her  happiness  depends  upon  her  marriage  with  you, 
I  will  consider  your  proposition.  Until  then  consider 
yourself  banished  from  Rose  Hill.  I  shall  command  my 
daughter  to  hold  no  intercourse  with  you." 

The  doctor's  face  was  a  study  during  this  calm  expo- 
sition of  Mr.  Holcombe's  intentions ;  wrath,  indecision, 
and  fear  chased  themselves  over  his  countenance,  and, 
mingled  with  all,  the  necessity  of  concealing  his  feelings. 
At  last  he  managed  to  say, — 

"  I  am  from  Massachusetts,  sir." 

•'  Which  in  itself  is  nothing  in  your  favor,"  said  Mr. 
Holcombe,  coolly. 

"  You  speak,  sir,"  said  Dr.  Burton,  with  temper,  "  as 
if  Massachusetts  could  not  furnish  as  good  gentlemen  as 
Virginia." 

"  I  said  nothing  of  the  kind,  sir ;  but  I  must  be  assured 
that  Massachusetts  has  sent  out  the  best  man  she  has 
before  he  can  take  Margaret  Holcombe.  I  have  seen 
first-rate  men  in  Massachusetts,  but  they,  for  the  most 
part,  stay  at  home,  or,  emigrating  to  another  State,  bring 
with  them  such  credentials  as  will  establish  their  claims 
to  be  received  as  equals  in  the  community  in  which  they 
make  their  residence.  Perhaps  Dr.  Burton  has  such  ?  I 
fim  ready  to  consider  them.  In  the  mean  time,  I  think  it 


ASKING  PAPA.  223 

is  useless  for  us  to  continue  this  conversation.  I  must 
see  my  daughter  before  I  speak  any  further  on  this  sub- 
ject,— I  feel  sure  that  there  must  be  some  mistake." 

After  the  first  burst  of  surprise  Mr.  Holcombe's  man- 
ner had  been  perfectly  cool  and  collected,  and  he  now 
bowed  Dr.  Burton  out  with  all  the  calm  politeness  which 
usually  characterized  his  manner;  but  the  moment  his 
back  was  turned  he  rang  the  bell  with  a  vehemence  which 
startled  the  servants  in  the  kitchen  and  brought  an  an- 
swer to  his  summons  at  once. 

"  Go  and  tell  your  Miss  Margaret  I  wish  to  speak  to 
her,"  said  he  to  the  boy  who  appeared  at  the  door;  and 
then  to  his  impatient  spirit  it  seemed  an  hour  before  he 
heard  the  light  footstep  coming  slowly  down  the  stairs; 
and  when  Margaret  Holcombe  opened  the  door  she  found 
him  impatiently  awaiting  her  on  the  threshold. 

In  an  instant  his  heart  was  touched  by  her  pallid  face 
and  evident  agitation, — so  different  from  Margaret's  usual 
demeanor. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  what  in  the  world  does  this 
fellow  Burton  mean  by  saying  that  you  have  promised  to 
marry  him  ?" 

"  He  speaks  the  truth,  papa, — I  have  given  him  such 
a  promise." 

Mr.  Holcombe  almost  groaned  aloud.  Margaret  looked 
up  hastily,  and  said, — • 

"  Is  there  any  reason  for  your  objecting,  papa  ?" 

"  So  much  that  I  would  rather  see  you  laid  in  your 
grave  than  that  it  should  ever  take  place,"  said  her  father, 
solemnly. 

"  Give  me  your  reasons,  sir."  With  the  return  of  calm 
her  old  defiant  manner  began  to  assert  itself. 

"  In  the  first  place,  my  daughter,  you  know  nothing 
about  him.  Suppose  you  were  to  marry  him,  and  he 


224  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

should  take  you  into  an  entirely  different  sphere  from  that 
in  which  you  move, — you  would  be  miserable.  Next,  he 
is  not  the  person  to  make  you  happy, — he  is  inferior  to 
you  in  every  respect ;  and  you,  of  all  women  in  the  world, 
should  marry  a  man  of  strong-  intellect  and  strong  will. 
You  will  be  governed  by  one  you  love,  and  by  that  one 
alone,  and  if  you  should  be  united  to  one  for  whom  you 
had  not  the  most  unbounded  affection,  I  dread  to  think 
what  a  wreck  your  life  would  be.  I  do  not,  my  child, 
make  it  a  necessary  proviso  that  your  husband  should 
have  wealth, — you  will  always  have  enough  to  meet  your 
wants  from  your  mother's  property ;  and  besides,  the 
Holcombes,  without  despising  wealth,  have  always  placed 
other  things  above  its  considerations.  I  hand  down  to 
my  children  a  name  unsullied  through  its  whole  course 
by  anything  which  they  would  blush  to  know, — an  hon- 
orable lineage, — and  I  do  desire  that  the  stream  may  be 
kept  pure  ;  it  is  the  one  thing  you  owe  your  name."  He 
stopped  and  waited  her  answer. 

"  You  speak,  papa,  as  if  you  knew  Dr.  Burton  to  be 
unworthy." 

"No,  I  know  nothing  about  him  ;  but  I  have  told  him 
that  before  he  enters  this  house  again  he  must  bring  sat- 
isfactory evidence  that  he  is  a  worthy  suitor  for  my 
daughter,  and  that  I  should  forbid  your  seeing  him  until 
the  matter  was  settled." 

The  proud  head  was  thrown  up  and  her  eye  flashed  as 
she  said,  "  Did  I  understand  you  to  say,  sir,  that  I  was 
to  be  a  prisoner, — niy  movements  coerced  ?" 

"You  know  you  did  not,  Margaret,"  he  answered,  in- 
dignantly. "You  are  only  under  my  commands  that  you 
shall  not  allow  Dr.  Burton  to  seek  you  until  he  complies 
with  my  requisitions.  That  is  reasonable,  and  I  shall 
exact  obedience." 


ASKING  PAPA.  225 

It  was  not  often  that  Mr.  Holcombe  spoke  so  decidedly 
to  his  children  ;  but  when  he  did,  they  knew  him  to  be  in 
earnest,  and  did  not  venture  to  disobey.  But  Margaret 
said,  excitedly, —  . 

"  Am  I  never  to  be  considered  out  of  leading-strings  ? 
If  I  married  for  nothing  else,  it  would  be  that  I  might 
be  permitted  to  exercise  the  right  of  self-government." 

Mr.  Holcombe  smiled  as  he  said,  "A  new  motive  for 
marrying,  Margaret.  The  man  is  the  head  of  the  woman, 
as  Christ  is  the  head  of  the  church, — is  that  your  motive 
in  marrying  Dr.  Burton  ?" 

Margaret  was  seated  before  the  large  table  which  oc- 
cupied the  center  of  the  room,  with  her  face  turned 
towards  her  father ;  her  elbows  rested  on  the  green  cover, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  exercising  the  greatest  diligence  in 
tearing  a  piece  of  paper  into  even  squares,  which  she 
threw  on  the  table.  The  only  answer  that  she  now  gave 
was  a  gesture  of  the  hand,  which  let  fly  a  perfect  shower 
of  these  little  snowflakes. 

"  Because,  let  me  tell  you,  young  lady,"  continued  Mr. 
Holcombe,  "  I  know  my  sex  better  than  you  do,  and 
whatever  Dr.  Burton  may  promise  now,  he  will  be  sure 
to  exercise  his  prerogative  after  marriage ;  and  an  obsti- 
nate fool  is  worse  than  ten  men  who  can  give  a  reason." 

"But  he  has  promised,  solemnly,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Then  he  has  lied  solemnly,"  said  her  father,  "and  I 
have  a  worse  opinion  of  the  man  since  I  know  it.  He 
tries  to  entrap  you  by  flattering, — what  any  fool  might  see 
is  your  weak  point, — and  in  the  attainment  of  his  purpose 
does  not  hesitate  to  make  promises  which  he  does  not 
mean  to  keep." 

"  You  are  unjust,  papa.  Dr.  Burton  is  an  honorable 
gentleman,  and  I  know  it  is  best  for  me  to  marry  him.  I 
am  not  calculated  to  make  any  one  happy,  and  he  is  the 


226  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

only  person  I  know  who  is  willing  to  run  the  risk  of  mar- 
rying me." 

"  What  makes  you  think,  Margaret,  tha.t  you  are  not 
calculated  to  make  any  one  happy  ?" 

"I  never  have,"  she  answered  ;  "  my  unhappy  temper 
is  always  interfering.  In  order  to  be  happy  I  must  not 
be  so  continually  thwarted  ;  it  keeps  up  the  irritation  in 
me,  and  makes  me  miserable."  And  she  burst  into  tears. 

Mr.  Holcombe  was  surprised  ;  indeed,  Margaret  had 
surprised  him  all  her  life.  She  never  did  just  the  thing 
he  expected,  and  now  her  passionate  tears  were  an  enigma 
to  him. 

"  My  precious  child,"  he  said,  drawing  her  to  him  and 
taking  her  on  his  knee,  "  and  for  this  were  you  going  to 
throw  away  your  life  ?  Depend  upon  it,  what  you  want 
is  such  a  marriage  as  will  make  it  a  joy  to  you  to  sur- 
render your  will.  The  evil  should  be  curtailed,  and  then 
eradicated,  not  encouraged  and  strengthened.  You  think 
it  would  make  you  happy  never  to  be  opposed,  but  you 
are  mistaken, — you  are  too  true  a  woman  not  to  be  mis- 
erable when  you  know  you  are  violating  the  most  beau- 
tiful prerogative  of  your  sex." 

"  Which  is  submission  to  yours,"  said  Margaret,  laugh- 
ing through  her  tears. 

"Well,  I  didn't  make  it  so,  Margie,"  said  he,  glad  to 
see  her  natural  once  more ;  "  though  I  confess  I  would 
rather  belong  to  the  ruling  sex." 

"  Manlike,"  retorted  Margaret. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

DR.     BURTON,    CONTINUED. 

MATTERS  went  on  quite  smoothly  for  some  days  at 
Rose  Hill.  Nothing  more  was  seen  of  Dr.  Burton,  and 
although  Mr.  Murray  did  not  know  what  had  happened, 
he  hoped  much  from  his  continued  absence.  Determined 
not  to  allow  himself  to  be  defrauded  again,  he  sought 
Margaret  more  than  he  had  done;  supplied  himself -with 
a  pile  of  new  music,  which  he  proposed  their  practicing ; 
but  he  could  not  flatter  himself  that  he  progressed  very 
rapidly,  as  she  was  always  embarrassed  in  his  presence, 
and  once  he  was  sure  she  avoided  him.  She  was  evi- 
dently, too,  nervous  and  anxious;  a  step  would  make  her 
start  and  send  the  blood  to  her  cheek. 

John  and  Mary  started  off  to  school,  the  first  of  Oc- 
tober, their  father  accompanying  them.  Mary  was  almost 
broken-hearted  at  leaving  home  and  going  among  stran- 
gers, though  of  course  she  Avas  not  without  pleasing  an- 
ticipations of  the  pleasure  in  store  for  her  in  her  new  life. 
Ellen  Randolph  also  accompanied  them  as  far  as  her 
home. 

It  was  on  the  evening  after  their  departure,  while  Mr. 
Murray  and  Margaret  were  engaged  in  practicing  some 
new  music,  that  Dr.  Burton  walked  into  the  room.  His 
approach  had  been  so  noiseless  that  even  Margaret's  sen- 
sitive ears  had  not  been  startled  by  it,  and  he  stood  beside 
her  before  she  had  any  idea  that  he  was  near.  She  started 
to  her  feet  and  said, — 

(22?) 


228  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Burton,  how  you  frightened  me  !"  And 
truly  there  was  a  greater  exhibition  of  excitement  than 
the  occasion  seemed  to  warrant. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you  evidently  had  no  expectation 
of  seeing  me." 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  said ;  "  I  thought  you  would  wait 
until  papa  returned." 

Here  Mr.  Murray,  feeling  himself  de  trop,  left  the 
room.  He  caught  Margaret's  eye  as  he  opened  the  door, 
and  almost  paused  at  its  expression  of  earnest  desire  for 
his  presence  ;  but,  as  she  said  nothing,  he  went  on. 

"  And  why  should  I  wait  for  Mr.  Holcombe's  return, 
Miss  Holcombe  ?  After  the  insults  he  heaped  upon  me 
the  other  day  one  would  imagine  that  I  would  not  will- 
ingly find  myself  under  the  same  roof  with  him.  Nothing 
but  your  being  here  would  ever  have  drawn  me  again ; 
but,  unfortunately  to  my  misery,  I  am  forced  to  return  to 
you." 

"Not  at  all,  Dr.  Burton,"  said  Margaret,  stiffly;  "  I  as- 
sure you  I  did  not  consider  you  bound.  My  father  did 
not  approve  the  step  I  took,  and  dissolved  the  relations 
between  us,  and  I  of  course  submit  to  his  determina- 
tion." 

"Margaret  Holcombe  has  given  up  her  lofty  inde- 
pendence of  character,  then,  and  subsided  into  the  yield- 
ing, submissive  girl  ?  I  wish  I  could  congratulate  her 
upon  the  change." 

Margaret's  face  flushed  with  indignation  at  his  tone, 
and  she  answered,  with  grave  dignity, — 

"  Dr.  Burton  would  have  cause  to  do  so  were  the  change 
such  as  he  supposes.  Miss  Holcombe  desires  nothing 
better  than  to  be  able  to  give  her  submission  where  it  is 
rightly  due,  though  she  cannot  yet  felicitate  herself  upon 
such  a  happy  change  in  her  disposition." 


DR.  BURTON,   CONTINUED.  229 

Dr.  Burton  saw  he  had  made  an  error,  and  could  not 
in  a  moment  decide  what  would  be  his  best  course  to  re- 
pair it ;  flattery,  however,  he  had  always  found  potent. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  with  every  appearance  of  can- 
dor, "  but  you  have  stood  so  alone  in  my  esteem  for  the 
very  qualities  you  possessed,  in  which  most  of  your  sex 
are  lacking,  that  I  must  regret  any  evidence  of  their 
waning  strength." 

"  What  elements  of  character  are  they  which  have 
elicited  Dr.  Burton's  admiration?" 

Unawed  by  her  coolness,  he  answered,  throwing  as 
much  fervor  into  his  tone  as  he  could, — 

"  Independence  of  action,  strength  of  will,  and  firmness 
of  purpose." 

He  could  see  that  at  last  he  had  made  some  impression, 
and  he  continued,  "  And  when  the  other  night  your  prom- 
ise was  given  me,  I  said  to  myself,  Now  my  happiness  is 
secured, — she,  of  all  other  women  in  the  world,  will  not 
allow  herself  to  be  swayed  by  the  opinions  of  others. 
Even  when  insulted  by  your  father,  my  confidence  in 
you  supported  me,  and  enabled  me  to  bear  it  with  pa- 
tience." 

"Dr.  Burton,"  said  Margaret,  "you  have  twice  made 
use  of  that  expression,  'insulted  by  your  father.'  I  would 
like  you  to  explain  yourself;  it  is  certainly  a  thing  hard 
for  me  to  understand,  that  papa  could  have  been  guilty 
of  a  rudeness  to  you  for  no  greater  offense  than  a  high 
appreciation  of  his  daughter." 

"Nevertheless  it  is  so,  Miss  Holcombe;  he  asked  me, 
in  the  most  contemptuous  manner,  '  Who  are  you,  who 
dares  to  aspire  to  my  daughter's  hand  ?'  And  when  I  told 
him  that  I  was  from  Massachusetts,  be  said  that  was  a 
strong  point  against  me,  and  intimated  that  a  gentleman 
of  Massachusetts  was  beneath  the  notice  of  a  Yirginian; 

20 


230  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

and  in  the  most  galling  manner  told  me  he  did  not  believe 
my  assertions  of  equality,  and  I  must  prove  them.  I 
assure  you,  Miss  Holcombe,  if  any  other  man  than  your 
father  had  spoken  so  to  me  I  should  have  knocked  him 
down."  And  the  wrathful  little  man  looked  as  if  he  would 
like  to  make  his  words  good  at  once. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Margaret,  gently,  feeling  as  if  in 
some  way  she  would  have  to  atone  for  the  ill  treatment 
of  the  rest  of  the  family.  "  Papa  did  not  mean,  I  am  sure, 
to  express  himself  so  strongly;  but  he  was  taken  by  sur- 
prise, and  only  intended  to  convey  to  you  that  you  must 
bring  to  him  some  evidence  that — that " 

"  That  I  was  a  gentleman,"  he  said,  finishing  out  the 
sentence  in  which  she  had  become  hopelessly  involved. 
"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  have  that  questioned  by  any 
one, — so  long  as  my  behavior  lays  me  open  to  no  suspi- 
cion I  expect  to  be  received  as  I  always  have  been." 

"  You  know  we  Virginians  require  something  more," 
said  Margaret,  smiling. 

"Yes,  because  you  think  yourselves  better  than  the  rest 
of  the  world?"  he  said,  inquiringly. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  that ;  but  we  are  entitled  to  our 
peculiarities  just  as  another  State, — Massachusetts,  for 
instance." 

"  But  we  have  no  such  peculiarities,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  was  the  answer ;  "  but  you  have  others 
which  are  just  as  objectionable  to  us.  I  am  sorry  that 
your  feelings  were  hurt,  though,  in  this  house,  and  feel 
sure  that  I  should  be  authorized  to  apologize  to  you  by 
papa  if  he  knew  your  interpretation  of  his  words." 

"  Thank  you,  it  is  not  necessary,"  said  he ;  "  I  would 
endure  that,  and  a  great  deal  more,  to  win  you.  If  I  only 
accomplish  that,  everything  else  will  seem  as  nothing." 

"  That  is  an  idea,  Dr.  Burton,  which  you  had  better 


DR.  BURTON,   CONTINUED.  231 

give  up  at  once.  I  told  you  the  other  day  that  I  did  not 
love  you,  though  I  was  willing  to  marry  you  for  the  most 
selfish  considerations ;  but  it  would  require  a  stronger 
feeling  than  that  to  induce  me  to  meet  the  opposition  I 
should  have  to  encounter." 

The  doctor  was  nonplused, — her  change  of  mood  was 
inexplicable.  The  fact  is,  the  carrying  out  of  this  scheme 
of  his  had  become  absolutely  necessary, — there  were 
wants  which  were  becoming  more  imperative  than  the 
want  of  a  wife,  but  in  meeting  which  a  wife  could  help 
him.  The  immediate  cause  of  his  visit  to  Rose  Hill  just 
now  was  some  very  important  letters  which  had  reached 
him,  containing  severe  threats  if  he  did  not  at  once 
furnish  satisfactory  evidence  that  his  affairs  were  on  the 
highroad  to  fortune  ;  and  he  found  it  necessary  to  hurry 
matters,  if  possible.  It  was  rather  embarrassing,  then, 
to  find  his  affairs  so  much  out  of  gear.  But  one  recourse 
remained  to  him.  He  thought  he  had  made  a  discovery 
on  the  first  night  he  met  Margaret,  which  he  might  use 
to  advantage.  But  with  how  much  care  and  circumspec- 
tion must  each  step  be  taken  !  He  almost  feared  to  be- 
gin, but  the  case  was  desperate. 

"Miss  Holconibe,"  he  said,  fixing  his  eyes  keenly  upon 
her,  so  as  to  note  every  change  in  her  countenance,  "  I 
fear  there  is  an  influence  at  work  which  is  more  powerful 
than  your  father's  commands." 

Her  startled  eyes  flashed  upon  him,  for  a  second  only, 
but  in  that  second  he  read  the  truth  of  his  conjectures. 
He  must  still  be  wary ;  but  much  was  accomplished  by 
those  few  words.  As  she  did  not  answer,  he  went  on, — 

"  I  have  suspected  this,  my  dear  young  lady,  since  the 
first  time  I  met  you.  Some  chance  words  of — of  the  person 
concerned  led  me  to  think  of  it  first,  and  ever  since  then 
matters  have  gone  to  confirm  my  suspicions." 


232  THE  IIOL  COMBES. 

He  stopped  now  and  waited  for  an  answer.  Of  course 
she  must  break  the  silence  or  confirm  his  doubts. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Dr.  Burton  ?"  she  said,  recover- 
ing her  composure  with  an  effort. 

"Ah,  Miss  Holcombe,  it  is  a  strange  thing  to  say  to 
you, — beautiful,  young,  accomplished,  with  everything  to 
win  the  heart ;  but  already  you  feel  your  life  a  failure  be- 
cause you  suffer  from  an  unrequited  attachment." 

He  was  startled  at  the  flame  of  anger  which  met  him 
from  those  flashing  eyes,  as  she  said  in  loud  tones,  clear 
as  the  sound  of  a  clarion, — 

"  Dr.  Burton,  what  have  I  ever  done  that  you  venture 
to  take  this  liberty  with  me  ?  I  am  fallen,  indeed,  in  my 
own  estimation,  when  my  very  presence  does  not  protect 
me  from  insolence." 

Dr.  Burton  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  as  he  said,  "  Ah, 
Miss  Holcombe,  how  I  suffer  under  your  displeasure ! 
How  I  had  hoped  that  in  the  calm,  peaceful  lives  I  had 
planned  for  us,  this  delicate  subject  might  remain  un- 
touohed !  And  now  nothing  but  the  hope  that  I  might  be 
the  humble  means  of  promoting  your  happiness,  though 
you  cast  me  off,  induced  me  to  brave  your  anger.  But,  my 
dear  young  lady,  can  you  not  trust  me  ?  Can  you  not 
have  confidence  in  me  ?  Surely  the  promise  you  gave 
me  but  a  few  nights  since  was  sufficient  encouragement 
for  me  to  flatter  myself  that  my  position,  as  your  friend, 
was  at  least  a  high  one." 

Margaret  was  still  silent,  and  when  he  looked  up  he 
found  her  sitting  opposite  to  him  with  a  face  as  white  as 
the  dead :  with  expressionless  eyes,  the  lips  moved,  but 
no  sound  came.  He  started  up,  and  brought  her  from  the 
table  a  glass  of  water ;  she  took  it  mechanically,  and 
drank  it  without  saying  anything. 

He  went  on  :    "  My  dear  young  lady,  I  did  not  know 


DR.  BURTON,   CONTINUED.  233 

that  the  mere  mention  of  this  thing  would  be  so  dreadful ; 
my  reason  for  referring  to  it  was  that  I  thought  I  could 
do  some  good  by  gently  hinting  the  state  of  your  feelings 
to  Mr.  Murray, — the  mere  suggestion,  I  am  sure,  would 
be  enough " 

"  Dr.  Burton,"  said  Margaret  Holcombe,  rising  from 
her  chair,  "  leave  the  house  ;  I  cannot  stand  this  any 
longer !  Leave  my  affairs  alone  ;  I  can  manage  them  for 
myself."  She  was  a  queen  to  the  last,  he  acknowledged 
that  bitterly ;  but  he  knew  he  had  gained  the  day.  He 
knew  that  the  fear  which  would  hang  over  this  proud 
woman  would  be  a  nightmare  until  she  had  his  promise 
of  silence.  His  tone  was  very  humble  as  he  said, — 

"And  do  you  forbid  my  return  ?  I  cannot  give  up 
the  hope  of  making  you  happy."  He  held  out  his  hand  ; 
there  was  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  then  hers  was 
extended. 

Dr.  Burton  did  two  things  on  leaving  the  house :  he 
sang  as  he  went  through  the  grove,  and  he  wrote  a 
facetious  letter  to  his  threatening  correspondent,  telling 
him  that  he  had  reached  that  point  in  the  affairs  of  men 
where,  it  is  said,  the  tide  leads  on  to  fortune  ;  and  he  need 
have  no  fears,  he  would  fully  meet  all  of  his  obligations, 
and,  besides,  show  him  the  handsomest  and  proudest 
wife  Virginia  ever  produced. 

Margaret  fled  up  the  stairs,  locked  herself  in  her  own 
room  ;  and  when  the  servant  went  up  to  announce  supper, 
answered,  through  the  door,  that  she  did  not  want  any ; 
her  head  ached,  and  she  would  not  be  down  during  the 
evening. 

Nannie  came  afterwards  with  a  light,  but  she  declined 
letting  her  in. 

Had  Margaret  Holcombe  been  a  Catholic,  her  impulse 
would  have  led  her  to  bury  herself  in  a  living  death, 

20* 


234  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

where  the  mind,  in  its  endless  journey  around  and  around 
the  dull  daily  routine,  feeds  on  itself  for  want  of 
other  nutriment ;  but  having  no  such  recourse,  she  lay 
in  a  torpor  of  despair,  until  desperation  made  her  reck- 
less. What  was  her  one  life  at  last?  Far  better  to  sac- 
rifice it  than  to  submit  to  the  humiliation  which  threat- 
ened her.  If  she  was  miserable, — and  she  knew  she  would 
be, — other  people  had  been  miserable  before,  other  women 
had  lived  through  loveless  marriages,  and  gone  down  to 
their  graves  honored  by  all.  Her  very  trials  might 
make  her  better:  that  might  be  the  way  she  was  to 
become  a  Christian  ;  and  then  God  would  take  her  to 
heaven,  where,  poor  child,  her  best  anticipation  was  the 
meeting  with  the  idol  of  her  childhood — her  mother.  She 
could  sob  out  her  troubles  on  that  gentle  bosom.  She 
forgot  the  humanity  that  had  to  be  put  off,  she  forgot  the 
"  no  tears  in  heaven,"  she  only  thought  of  it  as  an  ele- 
vated earth,  where  she  would  meet  her  mother. 

Poor  child  !  for,  after  all,  she  was  nothing  more  than  a 
child.  She  always  thought,  in  after-life,  of  this  night 
with  a  thrill  of  suffering, — there  was  so  much  concen- 
trated in  those  long,  dreary  hours, — everything  is  so 
much  worse  at  night :  one  lies  awake  under  a  threatened 
danger,  and  nerves  and  brain  seem  to  combine  with  the 
imagination  to  paint  everything  in  its  most  exaggerated 
colors,  until  the  mind  is  terrified  at  the  vividness  of  its 
pictures.  She  heard  Dr.  Burton  insinuating  his  suspicions 
to  Mr.  Murray;  saw  his  look  of  annoyance  ;  heard  him 
again  say,  "  She  is  not  the  style  of  woman  to  please  me." 
All  this  was  as  vivid  to  her  as  if  it  had  been  real.  Then 
her  plans  for  preventing  the  dreadful  denouement  were 
endless,  and  most  of  them  by  the  light  of  day  would  have 
looked  perfectly  impracticable.  But  reason  had  no  sway 
in  those  dark  hours, — the  slight  frame  tossed  from  side 


DR.  BURTON,   CONTINUED.  235 

to  side  of  the  bed  in  weariness  and  discomfort.  Would 
daylight  never  come  ?  Oh,  the  dreary  study  of  the  ho- 
rizon for  the  first  streak  of  the  god  of  day  !  At  last !  at 
last !  a  pale  light  begins  to  creep  in  at  the  windows, — 
the  phantoms  of  night  take  their  flight,  and  the  figure  on 
the  bed,  from  sheer  exhaustion,  falls  into  a  heavy  sleep. 
For  some  hours  she  lay  in  a  perfect  torpor, — it  was  kind 
mother  Nature  interposing  ;  even  dreams  were  forbidden 
to  visit  her, — the  poor  brain  rested  at  last ;  but  the  sun 
would  not  be  kept  out.  Darting  one  of  his  beams  into 
her  face,  and  striving  to  get  under  the  closed  eyelids,  he 
broke  the  blessed  rest.  She  started  up, — seemed  trying 
to  collect  her  scattered  thoughts.  Oh,  they  are  at  work 
again  !  She  sees  the  precipice  once  more,  but  with  less  of 
the  horror  which  the  visions  of  the  night  had  brought, — 
day  was  more  the  time  for  action  than  thought.  For  a 
few  moments  she  lay  down  again,  face  hidden  in  the  pil- 
low, and  then  slowly  rose  and  commenced  her  toilet. 

"  Why,  Margaret,  are  you  sick  ?"  said  Jean,  as  she  took 
her  place  at  the  breakfast-table,  startled  at  the  dark  rims 
around  the  eyes,  and  cheeks  which  had  gone  back  to  the 
sallowness  of  their  childhood.  Mr.  Murray  looked  at  her 
in  alarm. 

She  tried  to  smile,  and  assure  them  that  she  was  well, 
but  the  effort  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  she  owned 
to  having  a  headache. 

Ah,  what  a  scapegoat  the  head  is  !  How  it  bears  off 
the  sins  of  omission  and  commission !  Is  one  afflicted 
with  ennui,  "  it  is  a  headache  ;"  does  one  want  a  conven- 
ient excuse  for  indolence,  "  it  is  a  headache ;"  does  the 
heart  ache  to  its  core,  ah  !  how  carefully  is  the  secret  to  be 
guarded,  while  the  long-suffering  head  is  made  responsible ! 

Jean  suggested  getting  the  carriage, — a  ride  might  do 
her  good. 


236  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

No,  she  thought  not, — she  only  wanted  quiet.  And 
yet  when  Mr.  Murray  announced  his  intention  of  riding 

into  C during  the  morning,  she  became  eager  in  her 

desire  to  practice  some  of  their  music  together,  until, 
puzzled  by  her  nervous  earnestness,  he  gave  up  his  pro- 
jected trip. 

"  He  had  never  seen  her  so  brilliant  or  so  unapproach- 
able as  she  was  that  morning.  The  color  had  returned 
to  her  cheeks,  and  now  burned  with  feverish  intensity  ; 
and  once  when  their  hands  came  in  contact,  in  arranging 
the  music,  he  found  they  were  as  cold  as  ice. 

"Miss  Holcombe,"  he  said,  "you  are  evidently  not 
well, — lie  down  ;  indeed,  you  are  not  fit  for  this  exer- 
tion,— your  hands  are  cold  as  ice."  And  he  took  one  of 
them  in  his,  as  a  brother  might  have  done,  though  the 
brotherly  affection  must  have  been  very  tender  which 
looked  with  the  anxiety  which  he  did  as  he  urged  his  ad- 
vice that  she  would  lie  down. 

But  no;  she  laughed  as  she  said  she  was  "too  poor 
company  to  seek  solitude." 

"  Then, "proposed  he,  "  go  into  the  library, — it  is  quiet 
there, — and  I  will  read  to  you." 

This  proposition  met  with  more  favor, — she  would 
have  him  safe  then.  So  they  adjourned  to  the  library,  and 
he  piled  up  the  cushions,  and  she  reclined  upon  them,  while 
he  read  and  talked  until  the  red  spots  paled  in  her  cheeks 
and  a  less  anxious  expression  looked  out  from  her  eye. 

"  Mr.  Murray,"  she  said,  interrupting  him  in  his  reading> 
"if  I  should  go  to  sleep,  will  you  sit  right  where  you  are 
till  I  awake? — it  quiets  me  to  see  you  so  still  with  the 
book  in  your  hand." 

He  smiled  at  the  childish  request,  and  said,  laying  his 
cool  hand  on  her  head,  "  I  would  sit  here  for  a  week,  poor 
child,  if  it  would  give  you  one  moment's  pleasure." 


DR.  BURTON,   CONTINUED.  237 

% 
One  moment  she  allowed  herself  to  rest  under  that 

soothing  touch,  and  in  that  moment  the  thought  came, 
oh,  how  sweet  it  would  be  to  die  with  that  band  upon 
her  brow  !  But  no,_she  had  to  live  first,  and  not  betray 
herself  again,  as  she  had  already  done.  So  she  turned 
her  head  restlessly  away,  and  was  soon  asleep,  turning 
to  him  as  her  eyes  closed  to  say,  "  Now,  remember,  you 
promised."  He  smiled  his  acquiescence,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment more  she  lost  her  consciousness. 

Hour  after  hour  passed,  and  still  he  sat  there,  book  in 
hand,  but  closed,  for  he  had  a  volume  of  far  greater  interest 
before  him, — he  was  trying  to  decipher  the  troubled  lines 
in  the  young  face ;  but  in  vain.  He  traced  out  all  the 
familiar  lines  in  the  features ;  could  tell  just  how  those 
brows  elevated  themselves  to  express  sarcastic  doubt ; 
fitted  expressions  he  had  heard  her  use  to  the  peculiar 
turn  of  countenance  he  was  imagining ;  saw  the  grace- 
ful head  thrown  back, — it  was  such  an  hourly  gesture 
with  her ;  the  very  tones  of  her  voice  came  back  to  him 
so  familiar,  and  he  knew  now  how  dear. 

And  then  conjecture  began  to  be  busy  again  with  her 
evident  distress.  What  was  the  influence  that  man  Bur- 
ton exercised  over  her  ?  If  he  only  knew  he  would  soon 
put  an  end  to  it.  And  again  he  recalled,  with  a  pleased 
smile,  how  she  had  wanted  him  to  stay  at  home, — how 
she  had  begged  him  not  to  leave  her  while  she  slept. 
And  Robert  Murray  was  very  young  as  he  built  his  cas- 
tles on  this  airy  foundation ;  but  it  was  easy,  happy 
work,  with  that  young  face  before  him,  and  he  by  her 
own  request  acting  guardian  over  her. 

Once  she  moved,  and  half  opened  her  eyes, — only  re- 
mained conscious  long  enough  to  smile  at  him,  and  mur- 
mur, "  Thank  you."  And  sleep  claimed  her  again. 

"  She  must  have  been  awake  all  night,"  said  he  to  himself, 


238  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

as  he  connected  her  appearance  at  breakfast  with  her  pres- 
ent heavy  slumber.  "  What  can  it  be  ?  what  can  it  be  ?" 

Presently  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  No  soft- 
footed  woman  could  have  moved  more  lightly  than  did 
this  gigantic  man  ;  the  mouse  in  the  wainscot  did  not 
even  pause  in  his  gnawing,  gnawing,  and  the  sleeper  re- 
mained undisturbed  as  he  softly  unlatched  the  door,  and, 
with  finger  on  lip  to  enjoin  silence,  received  from  the 
messenger  a  note. 

It  was  from  C ,  and  in  a  gentleman's  hand.  If 

ever  Robert  Murray  was  tempted,  dishonorably,  to  with- 
hold property  belonging  to  another,  it  was  then, — he  knew 
it  was  in  some  way  connected  with  Margaret's  uneasi- 
ness; and  as  he  held  the  delicate  missive  in  his  hand  he 
could  almost  have  cursed  the  pen  as  an  instrument  of 
more  evil  than  good. 

If  he  had  known  it  was  an  answer  to  a  note  from  her 
sent  off  very  early  that  morning,  he  would  have  been 
still  more  puzzled  and  troubled ;  but,  at  any  rate,  he  de- 
termined to  make  the  letter  he  held  an  excuse  for  speak- 
ing more  plainly  to  her  than  he  had  ever  yet  done.  This 
determined  upon,  he  sat  quietly,  keeping  his  vigil. 

Morning  had  given  place  to  noon,  and  noon  was  an 
hour  old  before  Margaret  Holcombe  opened  her  eyes. 
She  started  up  and  said, — 

"Oh,  Mr.  Murray,  how  selfish  in  me  to  keep  you  here 
all  this  time!  How  long  have  I  slept?" 

Mr.  Murray  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said,  "About  three 
hours.  Are  you  better  ?" 

"  Oh,  so  much  I  thank  you  ;  my  head  feels  quite  clear. 
I  got  nervous  last  night,  and  did  not  sleep.  Has  no  one 
been  here  since  I  laid  down  ?"  There  was  a  shade  of 
anxiety  in  the  question  which  went  to  his  heart.  Now 
he  must  put  this  half-won  peace  to  flight. 


DR.  BURTON,  CONTINUED.  239 

"  Yes,  Ned  brought  you  this  note."  And  he  handed 
her  the  little  scented,  sentimental-looking  envelope, — bear- 
ing even  on  its  face,  he  thought,  a  likeness  to  Burton. 

She  crumpled  it  in  her  hand,  and  was  starting  up  to 
go  to  her  room,  when  he  stopped  her. 

"  Child,"  he  said,  taking  her  by  the  hands  and  putting 
her  back  on  the  lounge,  "read  your  letter  there;  I  will 
take  my  book  across  the  room."  And  he  went  over  to 
the  window,  while  she  resumed  her  recumbent  position. 

What  had  become  of  the  proud,  willful  girl  ?  She  was 
nothing  more  than  a  submissive  child  in  the  hands  of  this 
man.  She  seemed  to  lose  all  disposition  to  resist,  or 
power  of  resistance  ;  and,  stranger  still,  she  did  not  dis- 
like the  manner  he  was  assuming  over  her, — it  was  a  rest 
to  her  troubled,  tossed  spirit  for  him  to  call  her  child,  and 
command  her  actions  in  that  way. 

Robert  Murray  turned  around  when  the  rattling  of  the 
paper  ceased,  and  found,  as  he  had  anticipated,  the  tran- 
sient expression  of  peace  gone,  and  the  same  goaded  look 
she  had  worn  in  the  morning. 

"Margaret,"  he  said, — "let  me  call  you  so  forthisonce, — 
cannot  you  tell  me  what  this  trouble  is  which  is  tossing 
your  spirit  about  so  terribly  ?  Let  me  help  you."  But 
she  waved  him  off,  and  tried  to  say  he  was  mistaken, — it 
was  nothing ;  but  the  habit  of  truth  was  too  strong, — 
she  left  her  sentence  unfinished. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  pry  impertinently  into  your  con- 
cerns," he  said,  "but  believe  me,  no  one  in  the  world  can 
feel  a  greater  desire  to  serve  you, — you  are  very  dear  to 
me." 

That  was  too  much.  Then,  too,  he  suspected.  Oh,  ter- 
rible, he  was  about  to  take  pity  on  her!  She  sprang 
from  the  lounge,  and  said,  with  an  earnest,  excited  man- 
ner,— 


240  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

"  Mr.  Murray,  I  have  been  very  imprudent ;  don't  mis- 
interpret my  desire  to  have  you  with  me  this  morning, — 
I  was  nervous  and  sick,  and  hardly  knew  what  I  was 
doing."  And  before  he  could  detain  her  she  was  gone. 

She  had  seen  his  intention  then,  and,  meaning  kindly, 
had  prevented  the  full  avowal  of  his  feelings.  The  dis- 
appointment was  great,  but  he  could  not  yet  feel  that  the 
matter  was  settled. — he  could  not  and  would  not  believe 
that  she  could  care  seriously  for  Dr.  Burton. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE    DEVIL   HELPS   HIS    OWN. — A   FUNERAL. 

THE  note  Margaret  Holcombe  had  written  in  the  morn- 
ing ran  thus, — it  lacked  an  address  at  the  beginning,  but 
was  not  less  welcome  for  the  omission : 

"  ROSE  HILL,  October  3d,  1S58. 

"I  have  been  a  good  deal  annoyed  in  consequence  of 
your  conduct  yesterday  evening,  and  write  this  morning 
to  beg  that  you  will  never  mention  your  ridiculous  sus- 
picions to  myself  or  any  one  else  again.  You  have  no 
right  to  entertain  them,  and  I  have  a  right  to  command 
your  silence. 

"MARGARET    HOLCOMBE." 

The  answer  returned  was  as  follows : 

"  C ,  October  3d,  1858. 

"Mr  DEAREST  Miss  HOLCOMBE, — Your  note  has  been 
this  moment  received,  and  I  hasten  to  answer  it.  Don't 
allow  yourself  to  be  troubled  for  an  instant  by  my  impru- 
dent disclosures  last  night,  I  assure  you  I  have  deeply 
repented  speaking  to  you  as  I  did.  It  never  shall  be  re- 
peated. Could  I  avoid  it,  your  life  should  never  know 
one  pang.  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  make  you  happy.  When 
may  I  see  you  ? 

"  Ever  devotedly  yours, 

"  WILLIAM  BURTON. 

"  P.S. — Trust  me  implicitly  with  your  secret,  and  be- 
lieve that  I  will  only  use  it  for  what  /  regard  as  your 
happiness.  Yours,  W.  B." 

21  (241) 


242  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

It  is  said  that  the  devil  helps  his  own,  and  surely  he 
must  have  helped  in  the  concoction  of  this  letter.  Under 
the  guise  of  the  greatest  devotion  Dr.  Burton  managed 
to  let  Margaret  know  that  at  any  time  the  dreaded  reve- 
lation might  be  made.  Mr.  Murray's  words  also  increased 
her  distress.  And  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  actu- 
ally groaned  with  shame  at  the  idea  of  his  suspecting  her 
miserable  secret. 

The  fact  is,  to  understand  fully  Margaret  Holcombe's 
self-torture  during  this  time,  one  must  comprehend  her 
proudly,  sensitive  nature ;  when  a  thought,  which  cuts 
like  a  knife,  seems  to  present  itself  over  and  over  again 
with  wanton  cruelty,  holding  its  victim  like  the  malicious 
spider  does  the  buzzing  fly,  returning  again  and  again 
with  its  poisonous  sting,  and  then  retiring  to  gloat  over 
its  agonies  ;  when,  too,  such  a  woman  loses  control  over 
her  nerves,  she  succumbs  more  quickly  than  one  less 
highly  strung  to  the  touch  of  a  dreaded  evil.  Then, 
added  to  this,  Margaret  was  no  longer  well, — her  body 
was  sympathizing  keenly  with  her  distress  of  mind.  And 
when  her  father  came  home  he  was  shocked  to  see  the 
change  in  her.  Upon  inquiring  the  cause,  he  went  at 

once  into  C ,  and  had  an  interview  with  Dr.  Burton, 

in  which  he  told  him,  in  his  impulsive  way,  that  after  his 
violation  of  his  express  stipulations  that  his  status  was 
established,  and  did  the  whole  of  Massachusetts  pour 
down  its  credentials,  he  would  still  stand  in  the  position  he 
now  occupied, — the  rejected  suitor  to  Margaret  Holcombc. 

Mr.  Holcombe  would  not  have  flattered  himself  so  com- 
placently that  the  trouble  was  over  if  he  could  have  seen 
Dr.  Burton's  countenance  after  he  left,  with  its  expres- 
sion of  malicious  triumph,  as  he  brought  down  his  fist 
upon  the  table  and  said,  as  though  answering  an  unseen 
antagonist, — 


THE  DEVIL   HELPS  HIS   OWN.— A   FUNERAL.      243 

"  Yes,  with  all  your  boasted  Virginia  aristocracy,  my 
lordly  gentleman,  I'll  teach  you  the  lesson  that  a  Massa- 
chusetts Yankee  is  more  than  a  match  for  a  Virginia  aris- 
tocrat. " 

Meantime  Mr.  Murray  kept  a  steady  watch  over  the 
unhappy  girl ;  but  she  as  steadily  avoided  him,  unless 

she  found  that  he  had  an  intention  of  going  into  C , 

and  then  every  blandishment  was  put  forth  to  prevent  his 
carrying  out  his  purpose.  Once  or  twice  Margaret  was 
betrayed  into  an  expression  which  almost  persuaded  him 
that  he  might  afford  to  hope  for  a  return  of  his  devotion  ; 
but  this  was  always  followed  by  such  long  seasons  of 
coldness  and  avoidance  that  he  was  completely  non- 
plused. 

One  day,  near  the  middle  of  November,  when  the  In- 
dian summer — that  beautiful  season  in  our  climate — had 
thrown  over  all  nature  its  misty  veil,  and  was  breathing 
its  balmiest  breath  as  a  farewell  before  consigning  us  to 
the  cold  embrace  of  hoary  winter,  Mr.  Murray  was  stand- 
ing on  the  porch,  which  extended  along  the  front  of  the 
house,  with  that  potent  consolation,  a  cigar,  in  his  mouth, 
when  Margaret  Holcombe  and  Jean  came  out,  evidently 
prepared  for  some  expedition. 

"  Where  are  you  bound  this  beautiful  day  ?"  said  he, 
throwing  away  what  remained  of  "  his  consolation,"  and 
coming  towards  them. 

Jean  explained  briefly  that  Aunt  Aggy  had  lost  one  of 
her  children, — a  boy  of  about  six  years  old, — and  they 
were  going  to  the  funeral. 

"  May  I  go  with  you  ?"  said  he.  "  I  was  just  consumed 
by  ennui,  and  wishing  for  a  companion  in  my  solitude, 
when,  lo !  in  answer,  as  it  were,  to  my  invocation,  you 
two  make  your  appearance." 

The  required  permission  was  given,  and  before  they 


244  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

had  gone  many  steps  Mr.  Holcombe  joined  them,  and, 
putting  Jean's  arm  in  his,  left  Margaret  to  Mr.  Murray. 
Their  way  lay  through  the  little  settlement  called  the 
Negro  Quarters,  and  along  the  base  of  a  hill  to  a  clump 
of  trees,  which  almost  merited  the  name  of  grove,  where 
the  rude  head-boards  and  unmistakable  little  hillocks,  now 
covered  with  dead  leaves,  which  had  not  yet  lost  all  of 
the  brilliant  tints  of  autumn,  marked  the  simple  burying- 
ground  of  the  negroes.  Here  they  had  been  laid  for 
three  generations  past,  and  two  or  three  gray  stones,  of 
unpretending  appearance,  proclaimed  the  extraordinary 
faithfulness  and  attachment  of  the  humble  dead  who  lay 
beneath. 

The  solemnity  which  always  attaches  itself  to  these 
"  cities  of  the  dead,"  however  lowly  they  be,  subdued  the 
voices  and  checked  the  smiles  of  our  pedestrians  as  they 
entered  its  precincts.  The  noble  old  forest  trees,  with 
their  gnarled  roots  and  bare  branches,  waved  a  requiem 
above  their  heads,  while  the  few  leaves  which  had  still 
clung  fondly  to  the  parent  from  which  they  had  sprung 
in  their  fresh  greenness,  now  fluttered  one  by  one  to  their 
feet,  contributing,  as  their  predecessors  had  done,  to  form 
the  funeral  pall  which  covered  the  face  of  the  ground. 

As  the  procession  in  honor  of  the  dead  had  not  yet 
made  its  appearance,  Mr.  Murray  led  Margaret  to  one  of 
the  gray  stones  of  which  we  have  spoken,  and  read  aloud 
the  inscription  roughly  cut  in  the  rude  surface: 

"TO    THE     MEMORY    OP 

"AUNT  DOLLY, 

"Who  died  September  16th,  1840,  aged  106  years,  most 

of  which  time  was  spent  in  faithful  servitude 

to  the  Holcombe  family." 


THE  DEVIL   HELPS  HIS   OWN.— A   FUNERAL.      245 

"  One  hundred  and  six  years  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Murray. 
"  What  a  pilgrimage  !" 

"Yes, "said  Mr.  Holcombe,  who  had  just  come  up, 
"  one  hundred  and  six  years;  and  I  assure  you,  at  the 
time  of  her  death  she  was  as  active  as  Margie  here.  I 
remember  her  appearance  so  well, — she  was  a  little, 
tightly-made  woman,  with  a  brisk  movement  and  a  quick 
manner  of  speaking.  She  always  had  her  linsey-woolsey 
dresses  made  in  the  fashion  of  seventy-five  years  ago, 
with  a  tight  jacket  and  a  little,  short  skirt  behind. 

"  She  was  the  mother  of  our  old  Mammy  ;  indeed,  al- 
most all  of  the  negroes  on  the  place  are  descended  from 
her.  We  children  used  to  delight  in  getting  her  to  tell 
us  some  of  her  experiences  in  the  Revolutionary  war, 
and  how  she  once  saw  '  Gineral  Washington,  when  he 
come  to  old  marster's,  after  Mars'  Cornwallis  had  to  sur- 
render.' And  how,  when  she  was  a  '  slip  of  a  gal,' — 
though  she  must  have  been  nearly  thirty  at  the  time, — 
'  she  used  to  go  with  her  old  mistus  to  Jimtown,  when 
Governor  Buckley  used  to  have  all  the  quality  thar  at 
court.' 

"  But,"  added  he,  "I  see  the  procession  coming.  I 
want  you  to  look  at  this  stone  before  they  get  here." 
And  turning  to  one  similar  to  that  before  which  they  had 
been  standing,  he  read : 

"  Sacred  to  the  memory  of  WILLIAM,  who  died  May 
18th,  1836,  aged  seventy-six  years. 

"'Well  done  thou  good  and  faithful  servant.' 

"  This  old  fellow,"  continued  Mr.  Holcombe,  "  accompa- 
nied my  mother's  brother  to  Canada  in  the  last  war, 
where  he  fell  fighting  bravely  at  Lundy's  Lane,  and  Wil- 
liam bore  his  body  off  of  the  field  and  himself  laid  it  in 

21* 


246  THE  HOLCOAIBES. 

the  grave  ;  and,  when  he  returned,  brought  his  watch  and 
purse  with  him." 

Just  here  they  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  the 
funeral  procession.  The  coffin  was  made  of  rough  deal 
boards,  and  was  borne  by  two  men,  while  the  parents  fol- 
lowed close  behind. 

The  negro  is  an  impulsive,  affectionate  creature,  and 
Mr.  Murray  was  touched  by  the  evident  grief  of  these 
children  of  nature.  At  any  other  time  he  would  have 
smiled  at  the  rude  attempt  at  mourning  habiliments ;  but 
now  he  felt  no  desire  to  be  amused,  for  the  head,  though 
it  was  adorned  by  a  bonnet  of  a  fashion  many  years 
back,  was  bowed  with  sincere  sorrow,  and  the  red  hand- 
kerchief, so  little  in  unison  with  the  rest  of  the  dress, 
wiped  away  genuine  tears. 

Uncle  Armstead  conducted  the  services.  He  was  a 
fine-looking  old  negro,  with  tall  figure  still  unbent  by  age, 
but  whose  long  white  beard  gave  him  a  venerable  and 
majestic  appearance. 

They  joined  with  the  group  which  assembled  around 
the  grave,  and  the  little  coffin  was  lowered  to  its  last 
resting-place.  After  singing  their  own  version  of  the 
hymn, — 

"When  those  we  love  are  snatched  away,"  etc., 

Uncle  Armstead  stepped  in  front  of  the  others  and  said 
(I  give  you  his  peculiar  pronunciation,  because  I  wish  to 
be  perfectly  truthful  to  nature), — 

"  My  dearly-beloved  bredren  :  we  is  met  here  dis  day 
to  commit  to  de  dus'  our  deceas-sed  brudcr.  Dus'  to  dus' 
en  ashes  to  ashes,  till  de  great  resurrection  day,  when  we 
shell  all  arise  white  en  pure  en  clean,  like  an  angel  of 
God  in  heaven. 

"  But  now,  my  dear  bredren,  let  us  not  mourn  for  dis, 
our  deceas-sed  fren,  as  dus  sum  others,  'cause  our  good 


THE  DEVIL   HELPS  HIS   OWN.— A    FUNERAL.      £47 

Marster  is  dun  took  him  to  hisself,  to  live  wid  Him  fru 
de  endless  ages  of  eternity ;  en  you  kno',  my  dearly-be- 
loved bredren,  dit  we  is  told  what  a  happy  home  heaven 
is,  wid  its  golden  streets  en  its  golden  harps  forever  a- 
ringing,  en  whar  they  ain't  no  mo'  sno'  en  rain,  en  no  mo' 
burnin'  suns  ;  but  whar  it  is  always  sweet  en  mile  like  to 
a  bright  summer's  day.  So,  my  frens,  dey  is  lef  us  an 
essample  dat  we  shell  follow  in  dar  steps. 

"  Now,  my  dearly-beloved  bredren,  our  deceas-sed  fren' 
who  lays  here  before  us,  doo  he  was  young,  was  a  very 
good  boy.  Let  us  all  try  en  do  like  he  did,  dit  when  de 
time  come  de  Marster  will  sen'  our  summons  en  fine  us 
ready. 

"  En  now  jes  think  of  the  change  to  little  William 
Henry.  Yestiddy  he  was  sick  en  suffrin', — to-day  he  ain't 
sick  en  suffrin' ;  yestiddy  he  was  crien'  en  weepin', — to- 
day he  ain't  crien'  en  weepin';  yestiddy  he  was  sinful, — 
to-day  he  ain't  sinful ;  yestiddy  he  didn't  know  uuffin' 
but  how  to  eat  and  drink, — to-day  he  know  how  to  read 
en  rite  en  cipher. 

"  While  1  was  a-sittin'  by  him  yestiddy,  he  open  his 
eyes  en  look  at  me  so  pitiful-like,  en  den  de  Marster  jes' 
cum  en  call  him,  en  he  flopped  his  wings  en  flowed 
away. 

"  I  ain't  got  nuffin'  more  to  say  at  present,  my  beloved 
bredreu.  Jim,  you  en  Xed  kin  fill  up  de  grave."* 

Mr.  Holcombe,  and  afterwards  the  whole  party,  went 
up  to  speak  to  the  mother  and  father;  and  Mr.  Holcombe 
told  them  in  different,  but  not  more  sincere,  language,  of 
the  blessed  exchange  their  child  had  made,  and  that  after 
the  toils  and  cares  of  life  were  over  they  would  go  to 
meet  him  at  the  right  hand  of  God. 

*  Taken  from  one  of  their  funeral  discourses. 


248  THE  HO  LOOM  RES. 

"  Yes,  marster,  yes,  marster,"  was  tlie  answer.  "  I 
knows  all  dat ;  but  it  is  hard  to  give  up  you  chile  ;  but 
de  Lord's  will  be  done." 

As  they  walked  away,  Mr.  Murray  said  to  Mr,  Hol- 
conibe,  "  Don't  you  ever  have  to  punish  your  servants  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe,  "  we  arc  obliged  to  be 
a  law  unto  ourselves.  Of  course  there  are  many  hard 
characters  among  such  numbers,  and  as  a  white  criminal 
would  be  punished  by  the  laws  of  his  country  for  steal- 
ing, lying,  and  disobedience,  so  the  masters  punish  for 
like  offenses." 

"  But  I  should  think,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "  that  this  al- 
lowed great  license  to  a  bad-tempered,  tyrannical  mas- 
ter." 

"  It  does,"  was  the  answer, — "  it  is  too  much  of  an  un- 
limited monarchy  ;  but  so  does  the  power  allowed  to  a 
husband  over  his  wife, — a  father  over  his  child.  Because 
a  husband  has  been  known  to  kill  his  wife,  should  you 
argue  that  no  man  should  be  allowed  to  marry  ?" 

Mr.  Murray  laughed,  and  said  he  did  not  think  it  a  case 
exactly  analogous. 

"  No,  not  exactly,  I  admit,  but  a  good  deal  so.  I  say 
that  the  institution  has  innumerable  evils,  but  none  so 
great  as  to  set  this  poor,  helpless  people  free,  perfectly 
incapable,  as  they  are,  of  self-government.  We  accept 
the  least  of  two  evils,  and  keep  them  in  their  light  bond- 
age, rather  than  to  set  them  free  and  seal  their  destruc- 
tion. The  Anglo-Saxon  race  would  never  permit  them 
to  live  on  an  equality  with  them,  and  they  would  cer- 
tainly in  the  end  be  exterminated." 

"We  hear  of  a  great  many  bad  masters,  though,"  said 
Mr.  Murray;  "it  seems  dreadful  for  a  bad  man  to  have 
the  power  over  so  many  sentient  beings." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  perfectly,"  was  the  answer ;  "  but  I 


THE  DEVIL   HELPS  HIS   OWN.— A   FUNERAL.      249 

also  know  that  there  would  not  be  nearly  so  many  bad 
masters  if  there  had  been  less  legislation  on  the  subject 
of  slavery  ;  if  the  feeling  of  irritation  and  bitterness  were 
not  kept  up  by  the  interference  which  is  continually  going 
on  with  our  domestic  concerns  by  the  fanatics  of  the 
North But  here  we  are  at  home  again.  Uncle  Arm- 
stead  is  a  fine  preacher,  ain't  he  ?" 

"  Rather  rambling  in  his  style,"  said  Mr.  Murray, 
smiling;  "but  they  seemed  to  understand  him  and  to 
appreciate  his  efforts." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  old  Milly  always  has  hysterics  whenever 
Armstead  preaches." 

Here  Jean  and  himself  went  into  the  house,  and  Mar- 
garet, turning  to  her  companion,  said,  nervously,  "Mr. 
Murray,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  please,  before  we  go 
in." 

He  offered  her  his  arm,  and  they  continued  their  walk. 
It  was  so  seldom  now  that  she  did  not  avoid  him  that  he 
was  surprised  at  her  request. 

They  walked  for  some  time  in  silence,  and  then  she 
said,  timidly, — 

"  Mr.  Murray,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor,  and  not  ask 
me  any  questions  about  it." 

"  These  are  hard  conditions,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  but 
the  pleasure  of  being  able  to  do  you  a  favor  is  sufficient 
reward  for  compliance." 

"  You  are  always  so  kind,"  she  said,  looking  down. 

"Ah,  Margaret ,"  he  began. 

But  she  put  up  her  hand,  and  looked  annoyed. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  say  anything  which  will  give  you 
pain,"  said  he  ;  "I  will  promise  you  that ;  do  not  avoid 
me  hereafter  on  that  account.  Let  me  be  to  you  an 
elder  brother,  and  I  will  not  seek  to  be  more  if  it  pains 
you." 


250  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

She  looked  at  him  gratefully,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  repeated, — 

"  You  are  very  kind  ;  but  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  please, 
if  you  meet  Dr.  Burton  at  any  time,  don't  have  anything 
to  say  to  him." 

Mr.  Murray  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  Could  that  man 
have  excited  her  fears  by  threats  towards  him  ?  That 
might  be  the  solution  of  this  mystery. 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  "  of  course  I  have  no  reason  to 
have  anything  to  say  to  Dr.  Burton, — he  is  not  suffi- 
ciently interesting  to  me  to  induce  me  to  seek  him  out ; 
but  have  you  any  objection  to  telling  me  if  you  appre- 
hend danger  to  me  from  him  ?  I  think,  if  that  be  the  case, 
you  ought  to  let  me  know." 

Her  answer  was  quick  and  unhesitating.  "  Oh,  no  ! 
of  course  not;  you  are  not  in  the  least  danger  from  him ; 
but  still,  I  want  you  to  promise  me  this;  and  likewise,  if 
you  should  get  a  note  from  him,  you  will  not  read  it, — 
will  you,  Mr.  Murray  ?"  And  her  eager  face  was  raised 
to  his. 

"  Of  course,  my  child,"  he  said,  smiling  at  her  earnest- 
ness. "  You  may  make  yourself  perfectly  easy, — he  shall 
not  nod  his  head  to  me  across  the  street,  if  you  do  not 
wish  it.  I  am  glad  of  the  excuse  not  to  let  him  speak  to 
me." 

She  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  as  if  one  burden  were 
off  of  her  heart,  and  then  was  brighter  and  more  like  her- 
self than  she  had  been  for  a  long  time. 

"All  this  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  he  said,  presently,  "and 
one  which  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  solve  ;  but  I  sup- 
pose I  must  wait  your  pleasure  in  the  matter.  Now 
don't  begin  to  get  excited  about  it, — I  am  not  going  to 
try  to  find  out;  I  won't  even  want  to  know  if  you 
don't  wish  it.  But,  my  dear  little  sister,  if  you  won't 


THE  DEVIL  HELPS  HIS   OWN.— A   FUNERAL.      251 

let  me  help  you,  I  wish  you  would  let  me  point  you  to 
the  best  source  of  help  which  any  of  us  can  have  in 
trouble." 

She  looked  up  to  him, — so  longingly,  so  differently, 
from  what  she  had  done  a  few  weeks  since,  when  he 
broached  the  subject  in  her  presence, — and  said, — 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Murray,  if  I  only  could  be  made  ready  to 
die,  and  just  go  to  heaven  now  I" 

He  was  so  startled  by  the  hopelessness  of  her  tone 
that  he  seized  her  hand  as  if  to  hold  her  back  from  the 
grave,  for  which,  though  so  young,  she  wras  longing. 

She  gently  disengaged  her  hand,  and  wrent  on  :  "I  have 
felt  in  the  last  few  weeks,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life, 
that  I  wanted  to  have  a  counselor  and  guide  in  my  per- 
plexities, for  which  there  is  no  human  aid, — won't  you 
tell  me  what  I  must  do,  Mr.  Murray  ?'* 

Was  this,  indeed,  the  proud  Margaret  Holcombe, — this 
gentle,  teachable  girl, — asking  so  humbly  for  instruction  ? 
Yes,  she  had  proved  her  own  weakness  and  insufficiency. 
All  of  her  boasted  strength  was  gone  ;  she  was  groping 
about  in  the  dark,  and  asking  to  be  led. 

Mr.  Murray  pointed  her  to  the  Saviour  of  sinners, 
who  alone  could  help  her ;  and  all  the  time  those  deep, 
earnest  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face,  drinking  in  the  in- 
struction. 

They  had  extended  their  walk  to  the  grove,  and  now 
stood  in  front  of  "Margaret's  Grotto."  He  turned  to- 
wards it  and  said,  smiling,  "And  here  I  first  saw  you, 
Margaret.  I  thought  I  had  waked  up  a  wood-nymph,  as 
you  stood  there  looking  at  the  dusty  traveler  coming 
down  the  road." 

She  smiled  sadly,  and  said,  "I  feel  as  if  a  lifetime  had 
passed  since  then ;  life  looks  so  differently." 

"Ah,  well,  it  will  look  differentlv  again  when  this  cloud 


252  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

has  blown  over.  After  awhile  you.  will  wonder  that  you 
let  this  mysterious  secret,  whatever  it  is,  trouble  you  at 
all." 

Margaret  shook  her  head. 

Just  then  a  step  startled  them  both,  and  before  they 
had  time  to  wonder  what  it  was,  Dr.  Burton  stood  before 
them. 

"  Miss  Holcombe,"  he  said,  "  please  excuse  my  abrupt- 
ness ;  but  I  must  speak  to  you  for  an  instant." 

Margaret  turned  frightfully  pale,  and  clung  so  despe- 
rately to  Mr.  Murray's  arm  that  he  thought  she  wished 
him  to  refuse  for  her,  so  he  said, — 

"  Miss  Holcombe  is  far  from  well,  Dr.  Burton,  and  can 
have  nothing  very  private  to  say  to  you.  Whatever  you 
have  to  communicate  can  be  done  here,  I  am  sure." 

"  Well,  perhaps  so,"  he  said.  "  Have  I  your  permis- 
sion to  speak  in  this  gentleman's  presence  ?"  he  said, 
turning  to  her. 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !"  she  answered,  and  then  tried  to  laugh, 
as  she  disengaged  her  hand  from  Mr.  Murray's,  and  said 
to  him,  in  her  gayest  tone,  "  Excuse  us,  Mr.  Murray,  Dr. 
Burton  and  myself  have  a  little  matter  to  talk  about 
which  even  you  must  not  hear." 

The  flippancy  of  her  tone  hurt  him  more  than  anything 
else, — it  was  in  such  strong  contrast  to  her  face  of  dis- 
tress and  anxiety. 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  "  don't  do  it, — your  father  does 
not  wish  it ;  throw  off  this  influence,  whatever  it  is.  Let 
me  take  the  liberty  of  sending  this  gentleman  about  his 
business."  , 

She  hesitated,  standing  between  the  two. 

"  Do,  Miss  Holcombe,"  said  Dr.  Burton;  "I  arn  ready 
to  lend  my  aid,  you  know,  in  accomplishing  your  happi- 
ness. I  am  ready  to  speak  this  minute,  if  you  wish  it." 


THE  DEVIL   HELPS   HIS   OWN.— A   FUNERAL.      253 

"No,  I  do  not,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands;  then, 
turning  to  Mr.  Murray,  said, — 

"  Mr.  Murray,  don't  misjudge  me  about  this, — indeed,  I 
am  doing  nothing  wrong ;  I  will  not  be  gone  many  min- 
utes,— please  wait  for  me." 

"  Your  pleasure  is  mine,  Miss  Holcombe,"  he  answered, 
coldly,  walking  away. 

Dr.  Burton  offered  Margaret  his  arm,  but  she  declined 
it,  and  said,  haughtily,  "  Dr.  Burton,  this  is  too  much ! 
What  do  you  mean  by  pursuing  me  in  this  way,  when 
you  know  my  father  has  forbidden  my  speaking  to 
you?" 

"  Miss  Holcombe,"  he  said,  "  I  was  obliged  to  see  you. 
I  wanted  to  know  for  myself  if  this  terrible  disappoint- 
ment is  sapping  your  life.  The  change  in  you  is  worse 
than  I  anticipated,  even.  Ah,  I  entreat  you  let  me  speak, — 
I  could  do  it  without  compromising  you  in  the  least." 

"Dr.  Burton,"  said  Margaret,  "I  do  not  know  what 
your  object  is  in  this  ;  but  that  you  have  one  I  am  well 
convinced.  Let  me  hear  it  at  once ;  perhaps  I  may  be 
able  to  bargain  with  you  for  my  freedom.  What  do  you 
wish  ?" 

Her  manner  was  stinging  in  its  cold  sarcasm.  Oh, 
how  it  made  that  man  long  for  her  possession,  that  he 
might  break  that  spirit  to  his  will !  But  there  was  too 
much  depending  upon  his  success  in  this  interview  for 
him  to  allow  her  to  guess  his  real  feelings.  He  had 
prowled  around  Rose  Hill  constantly  for  two  weeks,  and 
this  was  the  first  chance  fortune  had  thrown  in  his  way, — 
he  could  not  lose  it.  Assuming  a  manner  of  the  deepest 
dejection,  he  said, — 

"  This  is  the  hardest  trial  of  all.  For  weeks  my  every 
thought  has  been  of  you,  and  of  how  I  could  minister  to 
your  happiness,  and  now  to  be  misunderstood  and  calum- 

22 


254  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

niated  !  I  can  stand  this  no  longer ;  farewell,  Margaret 
Holcombe !  You  may  find  friends  with  more  ability  to 
serve  you,  but  none  with  a  more  honest  purpose." 

"  Dr.  Burton,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her  old  fits  of  re- 
pentance, "  please  forgive  me !  I  believe  you  do  mean 
kindly;  but,  indeed,  I  think  you  take  a  wrong  way  to 
show  it :  the  best  thing  you  can  do,  is  just  to  let  me  and 
my  affairs  alone.  My  life  will  work  itself  out,  not  hap- 
pily, perhaps, — that,  I  think,  I  am  not  fitted  for, — but 
with  contentment.  This  is  all,  I  believe." 

"  No,  not  all,"  he  said,  "  I  will  write  to  you  to-mor- 
row, and  make  you  my  final  proposition.  I  cannot  stand 
this  state  of  things  any  longer." 

"Very  well,"  she  said  ;  "but  remember,  though  I  may 
receive  your  letter,  I  shall  not  answer  it." 

"Well,  perhaps  you  may  change  your  mind  when  you 
get  it."  And  before  she  could  prevent  him  he  seized  her 
hand  and  kissed  it,  and  walked  rapidly  away ;  and  she 
joined  Mr.  Murray,  who  coldly  offered  her  his  arm,  and 
silently  walked  by  her  side.  She  was  the  first  to 
speak, — 

"  Mr.  Murray,  you  do  not  know  how  to  sustain  your 
character  as  a  brother." 

He  felt  the  truth  of  her  remark  keenly  ;  he  did  not, 
truly,  where  she  was  concerned.  "  Why,  Miss  Hol- 
combe ?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  call  me  Miss  Holcombe, — 
brothers  never  do  that;  and  then  you  do  not  trust  me  at 
all.  I  know  appearances  are  against  me  ;  but  won't  you 
rejoice  with  me  when  I  tell  you  that  everything  is  clear- 
ing away  ?  I  begin  to  see  my  way  through  my  perplexi- 
ties." And  she  looked  up  at  him  with  so  bright  a  face 
that  he  was  effectually  won  over  by  it. 

"  Well, "he  answered,  "  if  this  unaccountable  interview 


THE  DEVIL  HELPS  HIS   OWN.— A  FUNERAL.      255 

produces  that,  I  shall  feel  that  it  was  lightly  purchased 
by  the  anxiety  of  the  last  few  minutes.  You  know,  I 
suppose,  that  Dr.  Burton  has  been  forbidden  by  your 
father  to  see  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  it,  and  I  don't  ever  expect  to  see  him 
again.  After  to-morrow  I  will  try  to  be  Margaret  Hoi- 
combe  once  more." 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

FORTUNE   FAVORS   THE   BRAVE. 

"  ROBERT,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe,  meeting  Margaret  and 
Mr.  Murray  as  they  returned  home,  "I  shall  have  to  leave 
niy  family  in  your  charge  again  for  a  few  days.  I  have 
just  received  a  letter  from  Richmond  compelling  my 
presence  there  immediately,  and  to-morrow  sees  me  on 
my  journey." 

"  Well,  my  dear  sir,  I  think  I  can  undertake  the  re- 
sponsibility," said  Mr.  Murray,  laughing;  "I don't  think 
either  Jean  or  your  daughter  here  will  give  me  a  great 
deal  of  trouble.  Eddy  is  about  the  only  difficult  one  of 
the  family  to  manage,  and  with  old  Mammy's  help  I  will 
even  undertake  him.  How  long  will  you  be  gone  ?" 

"  Not  more  than  a  few  days ;  but  it  is  a  terrible  bore 
to  have  to  go  away  from  home.  I  believe  I  could  live 
my  life  out  at  Rose  Hill,  and  never  ask  to  go  beyond. 
But  what  is  the  matter,  Margie?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  papa,  except  I  hate  you  to  go  away," 
said  she ;  then  added,  laughing,  "  As  Mrs.  Toodles  said 
about  the  coffin,  you  are  '  a  convenient  thing  to  have 
about  the  house.'  I  believe  I  would  rather  go  myself 
than  for  you  to." 

"  By-the-by,"  he  said,  "  suppose  you  go  with  me, — it  will 
do  you  good ;  your  Cousin  Jennie  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you,  papa,  I  could  not  go  now, — I  am 
going  in  February  to  pay  a  longer  visit  there,  and  to 
Williamsburg ;  but  I  am  not  ready  for  a  trip  from  home." 
(256) 


FORTUNE  FAVORS   THE  BRAVE.  257 

"  Miss  Flora  McFlimsey,  I  suppose,"  said  he,  pinching 
her  cheek.  "  I  wish  you  would  get  your  roses  back  again  : 
it  worries  me  to  see  you  so  pale." 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  answered,  "  I  will  cultivate  my  gar- 
den while  you  are  gone,  and  will  have  a  good  supply  by 
the  time  you  get  back.  I  know  I  am  going  to  get  quite 
well  now." 

She  seemed  so  full  of  innocent  gayety  that  her  father 
looked  at  her  with  delight,  and  replied, — 

"  Very  well ;  I  intrust  you  to  this  young  gentleman, 
and  while  this  fine  weather  lasts  you  must  resume  your 
rides  on  horseback ;  that  always  does  you  good.  Come 
in,  and  let's  have  some  music.  Robert,  did  she  ever 
sing  you  that  song  written  by  my  father : 

"  '  Oh,  breathe  me  that  air  yet  again '  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  she  ever  did,"  said  Mr.  Murray. 

"Well,  it  was  written  to  a  young  friend  of  his,  who 
sang  very  beautifully.  She  lost  her  lover,  and  could  not 
be  induced  to  resume  her  music,  and  this  was  an  appeal 
to  her  from  my  father.  Come,  Margie,  let  us  have  it." 

They  adjourned  to  the  parlor,  and  Margaret,  throwing 
back  her  wraps,  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  and  sang  the 
following  verses,  to  the  old  tune  of  "  Meet  me  by  Moon- 
light alone" : 

"  Oh,  breathe  me  that  air  yet  again, 

So  buoyant  and  lightsome  and  free; 
It  bounds  like  a  roe  o'er  the  plain, — 
It  bounds  like  a  bark  o'er  the  sea. 
I  have  heard  the  sad  song  of  despair 

From  the  lips  of  affection's  sweet  child, 
And  have  wept  from  a  being  so  fair 
To  hear  accents  so  plaintive  and  mild. 

Then  breathe  me  that  air  yet  again, 
Then  breathe  me  that  air  yet  again. 
22* 


258  THE  110 >Z COMBES. 

"A  Peri,  that  loved  her,  was  near, 

And  caught  the  dear  sufferer's  sighs, 
And  whispered  these  notes  in  her  ear, 

And  wiped  the  sad  drops  from  her  eyes. 
And  now  her  enlivening  strains 

Are  buoyant  and  lightsome  and  free ; 
They  bound  like  the  roe  o'er  the  plains, — 

They  bound  like  the  bark  o'er  the  sea. 

Oh,  breathe  me  that  air  yet  again, 
Oh,  breathe  me  that  air  yet  again. 

"Oh,  thy  melody,  woman,  was  given 

To  soothe  the  sad  heart  with  its  strains, — 
To  lift  the  despondent  to  heaven, 

While  it  leads  him  a  captive  in  chains. 
Sweet  consoler  of  others,  then  why, 

Since  you  lighten  man's  pilgrimage  here, 
Should  your  bosom  e'er  swell  with  a  sigh, 

Or  your  cheek  be  profaned  by  a  tear? 

Then  breathe  me  that  air  yet  again, 
Then  breathe  me  that  air  yet  again." 

"Beautiful!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Murray,  as  she  ended.  "  I 
don't  know  which  should  have  the  highest  praise,  the 
poet  or  the  musician.  That  gift  for  writing  poetry  seems 
to  run  in  your  family." 

"  Yes,  but  it  never  ran  my  way.  I  never  could  make 
two  lines  rhyme  in  my  life,  and  George  can  turn  any 
thought  into  pretty  verse.  I  remember  when  1  was  a 
young  man  in  love,  I  used  to  sit  with  my  face  in  my 
hands  for  hours,  trying  to  find  proper  rhymes  for  eyes, 
lips,  nose,  and  love,  and  when  I  found  the  words  the 
sense  would  not  come  ;  for  instance,  eyes,  flies  ;  lips,  dips ; 
nose,  hose  ;  love,  dove.  It  was  the  great  trial  of  my 
younger  life.  You  need  not  laugh,  Margie,  it  is  a  fact.' 
For  Margie  and  Mr.  Murray  were  both  laughing  at  his 
youthful  reminiscences. 

"Ah,  papa,"  said  Margaret,  "you  do  yourself  injus- 


FORTUNE  FAVORS   THE  BRAVE.  259 

tice.  I  have  mamma's  album,  with  a  piece  in  it  from 
you." 

"  No,  indeed ;  I  assure  you  I  had  to  go  to  George  in 
my  difficulties,  and  he  wrote  it  for  me." 

"  Worse  and  worse,"  said  Mr.  Murray;  "  it  is  like  get- 
ting some  one  else  to  write  your  love-letters  for  you." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  good  deal  like  it,  I  confess,"  said  Mr. 
Holcombe  ;  "  but  in  those  days  almost  everbody  wrote 
poetry,  or  what  went  for  it ;  it  was  a  common  thing  for 
invitations  to  be  written  in  poetry,  and  playful  contro- 
versies ;  and  it  was  really  a  serious  trouble  to  me  that  I 
could  not.  In  this  prosaic  age  it  don't  make  any  differ- 
ence. But  let's  have  some  more  music."  And  so  the 
evening  passed.  Jean  joiued  them  after  tea  with  her 
work,  and  the  bright  log  fire  on  the  hearth  threw  a  cheer- 
ful gleam  over  the  party. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Mr.  Holcombe,  as  they  rose  to  sep- 
arate for  the  night,  "  I  never  did  hate  to  leave  home  so 
much  before."  Margie  came  behind  him,  and,  putting  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  stooped  down  and  kissed  him.  He 
took  her  hands  in  his,  and  said, — 

"  Remember,  Robert,  take  good  care  of  these  treasures 
of  mine ;  don't  let  any  wolf  get  into  my  sheepfold.  I 
shall  certainly  be  back  by  the  end  of  the  week." 

Mr.  Murray  gave  the  required  assurance,  and  good- 
night was  said  all  around. 

Before  she  retired  for  the  night,  Margaret  knelt  hum- 
bly by  the  side  of  her  bed,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  besought  the  divine  guidance,  and  thanked  God  that 
the  clouds  which  had  encompassed  her  were  brightening; 
then  lying  down  she  slept  more  quietly  than  she  had  done 
for  many  weeks. 

The  next  morning  all  was  hurry  and  bustle.  Mr.  Hol- 
combe was  obliged  to  get  to  C very  soon  after  break- 


260  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

fast,  and  everybody  about  the  bouse  had  to  be  engaged  in 
helping  with  his  preparations. 

The  carriage  was  announced  and  the  "  good-bys" 
said  ;  but  after  it  had  actually  started  Margaret  ran  down 
the  terraced  walk,  and,  calling  to  the  driver  to  stop,  got 
in,  and,  putting  her  arms  about  her  father's  neck,  whis- 
pered,— 

"  You  dear  old  papa,  I  could  not  let  you  go  without 

another  kiss,  and  saying  to  you  that ."  And  she  hid 

her  face  against  his  shoulder.  "I  hope  you  will  forgive 
me  for  everything  I  have  done  wrong  to  you,  and  that  I 
will  try  to  be  a  better  child  to  you  in  future." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  kissed  her  fondly, 
while  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  In  another  moment 
she  was  gone,  but  her  father  could  not  forget  the  little 
scene. 

"  It  is  so  like  the  child  she  has  always  been,"  said  he, 
smiling,  to  himself,  "sinning  and  repenting,  and  willing 
to  make  any  confession,  except  in  the  one  instance  ;  but 
I  trust  that  has  all  blown  over  now." 

The  cars  were  just  whistling  in  the  distance  when  he 
drove  up  to  the  depot,  so  he  had  to  hurry  out  of  the  car- 
riage and  run  across  to  the  track.  As  he  stood  there  a 
moment  a  man  brushed  past  him,  brushed  so  vehemently 
past  that  he  almost  threw  him  forward ;  and  just  as  Mr. 
Holcombe  was  about  to  ask  the  meaning  of  his  appar- 
ently intentional  rudeness,  turned  around  with  a  bow  and 
broad  smile,  "Ah,  Mr.  Holcombe,  pardon  me;  I  had  no 
idea  you  were  going  from  home, — be  gone  long,  sir  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  will  be  back  immediately,"  said  Mr.  Hol- 
combe, stiffly,  arid  added,  with  considerable  meaning, 
"Meanwhile  Mr.  Murray  has  charge  of  my  family." 

Dr.  Burton,  for  it  was  he,  showed  his  white  teeth  again, 
and  there  was  no  time  for  more,  as  Mr.  Holcombe  was 


FORTUNE  FAVORS   THE  BRAVE.  261 

obliged  to  take  his  place  in  the  cars.  Before  they  started, 
however,  he  tore  a  leaf  from  his  memorandum-book,  and, 
calling  the  footman,  wrote  hastily  a  line  and  told  the  man 
to  hand  it  to  Mr.  Murray  as  soon  as  he  got  home.  It  ran 
thus : 

"  DEAR  ROBERT, — I  have  just  encountered  that  fellow 
Burton  at  the  depot,  and  feel  sure  he  rejoices  in  my  ab- 
sence. If  he  should  dare  to  go  to  Rose  Hill,  you  have 
my  authority  to  kick  him  out  of  the  house. 

"E.  H." 

There  was  an  observer  of  his  actions  at  a  little  dis- 
tance ;  and  as  the  cars  moved  off  the  footman  felt  himself 
tapped  on  the  shoulder,  and  turned  to  encounter  Dr.  Bur- 
ton's smiling  face. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  he  said,  slipping  a  quarter  into 
Ned's  hand,  "  Mr.  Holcombe  handed  you  a  note  for  me, 
did  he  ?" 

"  No,  marster,"  said  the  man,  holding  out  the  note, 
"  'tis  for  Mr,  Murray." 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the 
little  slip  of  paper  without  any  direction,  and,  opening 
it,  glanced  at  its  contents.  "  Ah,  I  see  you  are  right, — 
he  will  write  to  me  when  he  gets  to  his  journey's  end,  I 
suppose.  Good-morning."  And  he  went  off  smiling,  and 
rubbing  his  hands,  up  the  street. 

"  He  would  have  me  kicked  out  of  the  house,  would 
he  ?  Much  obliged  to  my  good  father-in-law.  I  shall 
take  care  that  he  never  enters  mine.  Well,  this  oppor- 
tune journey  assists  my  plans  wonderfully, — '  Fortune 
favors  the  brave.'"  And,  still  smiling  to  himself,  he  went 
up  the  street  towards  his  boarding-house. 

Towards  evening  of  the  day  that  Mr.  Holcombe  left 
for  Richmond  a  letter  was  brought  for  "  Miss  Margaret 


262  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

Holcombe,"  from  Dr.  Burton.  She  was  in  her  own  room 
at  the  time  she  received  it,  and,  opening  it,  she  read  as 
follows : 

"  C ,  November  14th,  1858. 

"  MY  DEAR  Miss  HOLCOMBE, — I  told  you  in  our  brief 
interview,  on  yesterday,  that  I  would  write  you  fully  to- 
day. I  now  seat  myself  to  do  so. 

"I  have  felt  for  some  time  past  that  it  was  necessary 
that  some  final  decision  should  be  arrived  at  with  relation 
to  our  affairs ;  not  only  because  it  makes  me  unhappy  to 
be  thus  separated  from  the  only  woman  who  has  ever 
won  my  heart,  but  because  your  happiness,  which  is  so 
infinitely  dearer  to  me  than  my  own,  is  so  deeply  involved 
in  it;  and  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  become  the  com- 
mon topic  for  the  gossips  of  society.  You  see,  my  dearest 
young  lady,  I  am  as  proudly  sensitive  for  you  as  you  are 
for  yourself;  and  when  I  hear  it  said  (which  I  am  forced 
to  say  has  been  the  case  more  than  once)  that  '  Margaret 
Holcombe  is  pining  away, — a  poor  victim  to  unrequited 
affection  ;  that  at  last  her  haughty  head  is  made  to  bow,' 
I  feel  as  you  would,  if  you  heard  it  yourself, — angry, 
pained,  humiliated!  and  as  if  I  would  sacrifice  anything 
to  be  able  to  stop  these  impertinent  tongues.  But,  alas  ! 
I  am  powerless  without  your  connivance. 

"  In  our  two  last  interviews  I  have  tried  to  tell  you 
this ;  that  I  know  it  to  be  a  fact,  that  your  affairs  were 

at  present  furnishing  the  '  tea-drinkings'  at  C with 

conjecture  and  excitement;  but,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  could 
not  see  the  pain  I  should  cause.  I  am  a  very  coward 
where  you  are  concerned ;  so  I  determined  to  write  it, — 
for,  like  a  kind  physician,  I  am  willing  to  give  pain  to 
save  the  life  of  my  patient. 

"Now, 'my  dear  Miss  Holcombe,  you  know  that  there 
is  no  wish  so  ardent  in  my  heart  as  to  call  you  my  wife. 


FORTUNE  FAVORS  THE  BRAVE.  263 

I  have  told  you  that  too  often  for  you  to  have  any  doubts 
of  its  truth  ;  and  if  you  would  only  trust  your  happiness 
to  my  keeping,  I  feel  sure  it  would  be  secure.  I  repeat, 
that  I  feel  sure  of  this,  in  spite  of  the  fact  which  I  know 
so  well,  that  your  heart  is  wholly  devoted  to  another. 
But  what  one  of  your  sex  does  not  succumb  to  kind- 
ness ?  Some  of  the  happiest  marriages  I  have  ever  seen 
have  been  founded  upon  the  wreck  of  an  early  affection. 
And  even  if  you  should  never  love  me  with  passionate 
devotion,  I  would  rather  have  your  friendship  and  respect 
than  any  other  woman's  love ;  and  I  know  1  could  win 
and  keep  that. 

"  And  now  for  the  other  side  of  the  question,  for  I  do 
not  unduly  urge  my  own  claims.  I  know,  that  although 
I  could  give  you  a  peaceful,  quiet,  nay,  a  happy  life,  yet 
of  course  you  would  know  a  higher  degree  of  delight 
with  the  man  to  whom  you  have  given  your  heart,  and 
who,  I  am  sure,  is  a  worthy  object  of  your  affection. 
That  he  does  not  now  love  you  I  am  afraid ;  but  that  he 
could  help  becoming  attached  to  you  when  thrown  daily 
and  hourly  within  your  influence,  I  do  not  for  an  instant 
credit.  He  looks  upon  you  now  as  a  mere  child,  and 
upon  himself  too  much  as  your  uncle  and  protector  to 
allow  a  thought  of  a  tenderer  relation.  But  did  he,  for  an 
instant,  suppose  that  the  rich  treasure  of  your  heart  was 
at  his  feet,  believe  me,  I  know  my  sex  well  enough  to 
say  with  certainty,  that  his  would  respond  instantly  and 
gladly. 

"  I  confess  that  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  let  your 
delicacy  and  pride  come  in  here.  You  must  know  that 
your  secret  is  in  the  hands  of  one  to  whom  your  delicacy 
is  as  dear  as  his  own  would  be  under  like  circumstances, 
and  who,  by  his  manner  of  handling  it,  could  accomplish 
his  full  object  without  implicating  you  in  the  slightest 


264  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

degree.  Can  you  not  trust  me,  dearest  friend  ?  And  will 
you  not  ? 

"  The  two  sides  of  the  question  are  now  open  to  you. 
I  have  pondered  both  of  them,  deeply,  seriously,  and  I 
will  tell  you  the  positive  conclusion  to  which  I  have 
come. 

"  I  may  startle  you,  my  dear  Miss  Holcombe,  by  seem- 
ing to  presume  too  much, — by  taking  hold  of  both  horns 
of  the  dilemma  with  my  own  hands ;  but  I  have  never 
been  able,  since  the  short  time  which  elapsed  in  which  I 
had  your  promise  to  be  my  wife,  quite  to  feel  that  I  had 
nothing  to  do  with  your  fate,  and  I  have  determined  to 
act  for  you  if  you  refuse  to  act  for  yourself.  You  must 
either  marry  me,  and  so  rescue  yourself  from  the  gossip- 
ing tongues  of  C ,  or  you  must  marry  Mr.  Murray, 

which  will  effect  the  same  result. 

"  Unhappily,  with  regard  to  me,  your  father  is  so  pre- 
judiced against  me — why,  Heaven  above  only  knows ! — 
that  I  may  not  hope  for  a  consummation  of  my  wishes 
in  the  midst  of  your  own  family;  but  I  have  friends,  to 
whom  I  could  take  you  at  once. 

"  Now,  listen  to  my  first  proposition  :  I  will  be  at  Rose 
Hill  to-night,  between  the  hours  of  eleven  and  twelve, 
with  a  suitable  conveyance.  If  you  will  meet  me,  in  a 
few  hours  I  will  place  you  under  the  care  of  a  lady  who 
will  be  to  you  a  mother  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  until 
I  can  myself  claim  the  full  right  to  protect  you.  And 
your  father,  you  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  will  forgive  you 
as  soon  as  the  matter  is  a  fixed  fact. 

"  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  you  cannot  make  up  your 
mind  to  take  this  step,  and  I  confess  that  your  loss  in  de- 
cision of  character  of  late  leads  me  to  fear  this,  I  candidly 
tell  you  that  I  will  to-morrow  let  Mr.  Murray  know  that 
your  heart  is  entirely  devoted  to  him,  and  then  I  will 


FORTUNE  FAVORS  THE  BRAVE.  265 

disappear  from  the  scene,  as  I  do  not  think,  dear  as  your 
happiness  is  to  me,  that  I  could  stand  by  and  see  it  ac- 
complished in  that  way. 

"  I  think  this  is  all  I  have  to  say  to  you  at  present.    I 
shall  await  you  under  the  oak-tree,  to  the  left  of  the  house, 
between  the  hours  of  eleven  and  twelve,  either  to  take 
charge  or  to  take  leave  of  you,  whichever  you  please. 
"  I  am,  as  I  ever  shall  be, 

"With  the  truest  devotion,  your  friend, 

"  WILLIAM  BURTON." 

For  a  long  time  Margaret  Holcombe  sat  with  this 
letter  open  upon  her  knee  and  her  head  leaning  against 
the  back  of  her  chair.  One  week  ago,  if  it  had  been 
received  by  her,  in  her  reckless  mood,  in  all  probability 
she  would  have  thrown  away  her  life  upon  an  impulse ; 
but  to-day  she  was  stronger,  not  in  her  own  strength, 
but  in  that  to  which  she  had  committed  herself.  And 
yet  it  was  a  fearful  temptation  to  her,  unknowing,  as 
she  did,  the  character  of  the  man  with  whom  she  had 
to  deal.  "A  quiet,  peaceful  life!"  She  did,  indeed,  long 
for  it.  And  then  the  other  alternative.  Well,  there  was 
one  thing, — she  could  refuse  to  marry  Mr.  Murray,  and 
she  would.  It  would  be  a  life-long  misery  to  feel  that 
she  had  been  thrown  at  the  head  of  the  man  she  married ; 
that  pity  was  the  strongest  feeling  in  his  heart.  And  again 
her  mind  reverted  to  the  unselfish  devotion  of  Dr.  Burton, 
for  it  must  be  so.  What  did  he  have  to  gain  ?  Her  for- 
tune would  be  nothing  to  him,  for  he  was  far  wealthier  than 
herself, — he  had  been  perfectly  frank  about  that ! — and  his 
lavish  expenditure  of  money  confirmed  his  statement; 
and  he  was  even  willing  to  resign  her  to  his  rival,  that 
she  might  be  happy.  And  her  heart  melted  to  him,  and 

23 


266  THE  I10LCOMBES. 

she  almost  felt  that  she  could  be  happy  with  him, — at  least 
she  could  reward  him  for  his  goodness  by  making  him  an 
affectionate,  self-denying  wife. 

The  idea  of  noble  self-denial  is  very  attractive  to  such 
a  woman  as  Margaret  Holcombe.  There  are  times  when 
self-abnegation  reaches  such  a  degree  with  them  that  no 
regard  is  paid  to  personal  needs,— they  can  resign  any- 
thing. It  was  such  a  mood  as  this  which  possessed  her 
this  evening ;  and  if  Dr.  Burton  could  have  looked  into 
her  heart  he  would  have  gloated  over  his  prospect  of  suc- 
cess. But  there  was  a  power  standing  even  then  within 
the  innermost  recesses  of  this  young  heart,  and  saying  to 
the  waves  of  sin  and  sorrow  which  were  dashing  and 
surging  against  her  spirit  with  such  wild  fury,  "  Thus  far 
shalt  thou  come,  and  no  farther,  and  here  shall  thy  proud 
waves  be  stayed." 

"Mr.  Murray," said  Margaret  Holcombe,  as  he  took  his 
usual  seat  beside  her  at  the  piano  in  the  twilight  of  the 
same  day,  "  do  you  believe  in  ever  doing  evil  that  good 
may  come?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  said;  "  the  Bible  expressly  tells  us 
'  whose  damnation  is  just.'" 

"Well,  Mr.  Murray,"  she  said,  "  if  you  had  everything 
to  dread  in  pursuing  the  right  course,  if  you  knew  you 
would  be  miserable,  humiliated,  shamed,  would  you  still 
go  in  it?" 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  grew  very  gentle  as 
he  spoke,  "is  it  not  the  very  path  our  Saviour  trod  before 
us  ?  Suppose  He  had  shrunk  away  because  of  the  shame, 
the  humiliation,  the  cursed  death  of  the  cross, — oh,  what 
would  be  our  hope  to-day  ?  No,  dear — sister,  I  know  not 
what  your  trial  may  be,  and  cannot  do  much  to  help  you  ; 
but  take  it  to  Him, — He  will  bear  it  for  you  when  it  gets 
too  heavy  for  you  to  carry.  God  knows,  I  would  will- 


FORTUNE  FAVORS  THE  BRAVE.  267 

ingly  take  the  burden  myself,  if  I  could ;  and  oh,  don't  I 
know  by  that  He  would  also  ?  for  He  is  gentle  and  pitiful, 
and  full  of  compassion.  But  I  had  hoped  the  trouble  was 
all  gone, — I  thought  you  were  to  be  the  real  Margaret 
Holcorabe  to-day." 

"  I  fear  that  was  a  vain  boast ;  that  Margaret  Hoi- 
combe  is  a  thing  of  the  past."  And  the  long  eyelashes 
shaded  the  white  cheek.  "  I  am  going  through  the  deep 
waters  of  temptation,  now,  Mr.  Murray ;  pray  for  me, 
that  I  may  be  supported  through  them."  + 

His  only  answer  was  to  repeat,  "  'When  thou  passest 
through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee;  and  through  the 
floods,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee.'  " 

"Thank  you,"  she  said;  "that  is  very  sweet.  Now 
let  us  sing  some  of  our  songs."  The  thought  passed  over 
her,  with  a  chill,  that  it  might  be  the  last  time. 

"  What  a  sighing  note  the  wind  has  to-night,"  said  she, 
in  one  of  the  pauses  in  the  music  ;  "it  sounds  so  mourn- 
fully !" 

To  change  the  sad  currents  of  her  thoughts,  he  said, 
"  I'll  make  it  sing  for  you,  and  then  it  will  soothe,  instead 
of  making  you  sad." 

"  How?"  said  she,  turning  to  him  in  surprise. 

"  Well,  "  was  his  smiling  answer,  "get  me  some  sew- 
iug-silk  from  that  wonderful  work-box  of  yours,  and  some 
wax,  and  I  will  show  you." 

She  ran  off  to  get  what  he  wanted,  very  much  inter- 
ested in  his  mysterious  preparations.  By  the  time  she 
came  back  he  had  supplied  himself  with  two  slender 
sticks,  around  which  he  wrapped  some  threads  of  the  silk, 
very  well  waxed,  and  going  to  the  window  he  inserted 
the  sticks  between  the  two  window-sashes,  stretching 
very  tightly  the  threads  of  silk,  and  immediately  a  soft 
musical  note  breathed  through  the  room. 


268  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

Margaret  clapped  her  hands  in  delight.  "  I  know," 
she  said,  "  it  is  the  JEolian  harp  ;  oh,  how  sweet, — and  so 
simply  made !  Now,  as  a  reward  for  it,  I  am  going  to 
read  you  a  beautiful  piece  of  poetry  on  the  JBolian 
harp." 

"  By  Mrs.  Hemans,  I  suppose?"  said  he. 

"  No,  indeed, — by  that  wonderful  grandfather  of  mine, 
though  he  quotes  a  verse  from  Mrs.  Hemans  at  the  be- 
ginning." She  brought  from  a  table  in  the  room  an  old, 
brown  leather-backed  book,  and,  turning  over  the  leaves, 
found  the  poem,  and  was  about  to  read  it,  when  Robin 
announced  supper. 

"  A  pleasure  deferred  is  not  a  pleasure  lost,"  said  Mr. 
Murray,  as  they  went  into  the  dining-room.  "I  insist 
upon  your  reading  to  me  after  this  important  duty  is 
done." 

She  readily  promised.  And  when  they  were  all  gathered 
around  the  center-table,  Jean,  Mr.  Murray,  and  herself, 
after  tea,  with  the  bright  light  between  them,  and  the 
^Eolian  harp  singing  its  plaintive  song  in  the  window,  he 
claimed  her  promise,  and  she  read  the  following  beautiful 
lines,  which  are  well  worthy  to  be  preserved  as  a  gem  of 
poetry : 

"APOSTROPHE   OF   THE  ^OLIAN   HARP   TO   THE   WIND. 

"  '  AVind  of  the  dark-blue  mountains, 

Thou  dost  but  sweep  my  strings 
Into  wild  gusts  of  mournfulness 

With  the  rushing  of  thy  wings.' 

"When  the  gale  is  freshly  blowing 

My  notes  responsive  swell, 
And  over  music's  power 

Their  triumphs  seem  to  tell 


FORTUNE  FAVORS   THE  BRAVE.  269 

"But  when  the  breeze  is  sighing 

There  comes  a  dying  fall ; 
Less,  less  indeed  exulting, 

But  sweeter  far  than  all ! 

"  It  seems  to  tell  of  feelings, 

And  youthful  pleasures  fled ; 
Of  hopes  and  friends  once  cherished, 

Now  mingled  with  the  dead. 

"And  oh,  how  sweetly  touching 

Is  the  sad  and  plaintive  strain  ! 
Recalling  former  pleasures 

That  ne'er  can  live  again. 

"Once  more  thy  breezes  freshen 

And  sweep  the  jEolian  strings; 
And  again  their  notes  are  swelling 

With  the  rushing  of  thy  wings. 

"They  seem  to  cheer  the  drooping,— 

To  bid  the  wretched  live; 
And  with  their  sounds  ecstatic 

His  withering  hopes  revive. 

"Alas  !  and  in  life's  drama, 

Howe'er  man  plays  his  part, 
Hope  is  forever  breathing 

On  the  lyre  of  theheart. 

"  Hope  is  forever  touching 

Some  chord  which  vibrates  there  ; 
While  bitter  disappointment 

Mars  the  delusive  air. 

"Alternate  joys  and  sorrows, 

Obedient  to  her  call, 
Now  breathe  a  strain  exultant, 

And  now  'a  dying  fall.' 

'•'But  how  unlike  the  measures 

Breathed  from  the  jEolian  string  ! 
These  soothe  the  heart  that's  wounded, — 

Those  plant  a  deeper  sting. 

23* 


270  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

"Then,  wind  of  the  dark-blue  mountains, 

Still  sweep  my  trembling  strings 
Into  sweet  strains  of  mournfulness, 

With  the  flutter  of  thy  wings." 

"Exceedingly  beautiful  I"  he  exclaimed,  when  she  had 
finished,  as  he  took  the  book  from  her  hand.  "  What  a 
rare  gift  he  had !  Do  you  inherit  it  at  all  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  am  afraid  I  could  give  almost  as  deplorable  an 
account  of  my  efforts  in  that  line  as  papa  did.  Now, 
Mary  scribbles  all  the  time,  though  I  don't  think  it 
amounts  to  much." 

"Oh,  Margie,"  said  Jean,  "you  are  unjust.  I  think 
she  writes  very  sweetly,  sometimes." 

"Oh,  yes,  sweetly,  I  admit;  but  I  have  never  seen 
anything  from  her  which  was  not  mediocre,  decidedly. 
Now,  anything  mediocre  is  bad  enough,  but  mediocre 
poetry  is  execrable.  Unless  I  could  write  like  Mrs. 
Hemans,  or  Mrs.  Browning,  I  would  not  write  at  all." 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

A    NIGHT    VISITOR. 

MRS.  HOLCOMBE'S  chamber  and  dressing-room  occupied 
one  corner  of  the  first  floor  in  the  house  at  Rose  Hill,  and 
Margaret's  room  was  directly  above  it. 

It  so  happened  on  this  night  that  her  baby  had  not 
been  very  well,  and  her  slumber,  always  light,  was  broken 
by  his  heavy  breathing.  She  started  up,  as  he  stirred 
uneasily,  and  was  bending  over  his  little  crib,,  when  her 
attention  was  caught  by  the  sound  of  carriage-wheels,  as 
if  some  vehicle  approached  the  house  by  the  gravel-road, 
which  extended  around  the  lawn. 

Alarmed  at  the  unusual  sound,  she  sprang  up,  and, 
throwing  on  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  she  flew  into 
the  dressing-room,  and,  opening  the  window,  pushed  back 
the  shutters.  Her  first  thought  was  of  Mr.  Holcombe, 
whose  absence  from  home  of  course  increased  her  nerv- 
ousness on  his  account.  Drawing  aside  the  white  mus- 
lin curtain  which  hung  before  the  window,  she  gazed  out 
into  the  night,  The  moon  was  at  its  full,  and  the  sky 
was  as  clear  as  crystal,  and  she  distinctly  saw  a  vehicle 
draw  up  at  the  foot  of  the  walk,  and  a  man  spring  out. 
Very  much  alarmed,  she  was  about  to  call  out,  when  she 
recognized  Dr.  Burton,  as  he  cautiously  approached  the 
house.  At  the  same  moment  she  heard  Margaret's  step 
crossing  the  room  above  her  head,  and  the  creaking  of 
her  shoes  told  her  that,  although  it  was  so  late,  she  had 

(271) 


272  Till-:   I10LCOMDES. 

not  yet  undressed.  The  window  above  was  cautiously 
raised,  and  Jean  heard  him  say, — 

"Arc  you  coming?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "in  a  few  minutes, — have  a 
little  patience." 

Quick  as  lightning  Jean  flew  up  the  stairs  and  into  her 
brother's  room,  rousing  him  with  "  Robert  Murray,  get 
up,  quickly,  and  save  the  honor  of  my  husband's  house ! 
Margaret  Holcombe  is  about  to  elope  with  Dr.  Burton  !" 
And  in  a  second  she  told  him  what  had  happened.  "  Go 
down  the  back  steps,  through  my  room,  out  into  the  back 
porch,"  she  said;  "don't  come  the  front  way, — I  will 
keep  her  there.  If  she  once  gets  out  of  the  house,  nothing- 
will  stop  her!"  And  without  giving  him  time  to  reply, 
away  she  flew  down  the  steps,  and,  taking  the  key  from 
the  front  door,  rushed  into  her  room  and  lighted  the  lamp. 
She  had  hardly  done  so  before  she  heard  Margaret's  foot 
on  the  stair.  Taking  the  light  in  her  hand  she  walked 
out  into  the  hall,  and  confronted  her,  cloaked  and  hooded, 
ready  for  her  expedition.  Yery  much  startled  was  she 
at  meeting  the  pale  face  of  her  stepmother,  as  she  walked 
towards  her,  waving  her  hand. 

"  Back !  back !"  she  said,  "  Margaret  Holcombe,  before 
you  bring  disgrace  upon  your  father's  name  by  this  mad 
step." 

All  of  Margaret's  old  spirit  rose  within  her  at  this  op- 
position, and  she  said,  coldly  and  calmly,  though  she  was 
white  even  to  her  lips, — 

"Let  me  pass,  madam, — I  do  not  require  your  guar- 
dianship." 

Jean  put  her  light  down  on  the  table,  and  stood  firmly 
before  the  angry  girl. 

"  Margaret  Holcombe,"  she  said,  "  I  have  your  father's 
happiness  in  my  hands,  and  I  tell  you,  as  your  natural 


A   NIGHT   VISITOR.  273 

guardian  while  he  is  away,  that  you  shall  not  pass 
through  that  door  this  night,  to  your  destruction.  You 
are  mad,  and  should  be  treated  as  such." 

Margaret  walked  to  the  door,  tried  it,  found  it  locked 
and  the  key  gone.  This  necessitated  a  pause,  which 
gave  her  a  moment  in  which  to  recall  her  new-made 
resolutions;  and  the  recollection  coming  to  her  that  she 
might  explain  matters,  she  turned  and  said, — 

''  Mamma,  you  are  unduly  excited,  believe  me.  What 
do  you  imagine  I  want  to  do  ?" 

Jean  heard  the  noise  she  had  been  listening  for, — the 
turning  of  the  knob  of  the  door  in  her  room.  In  another 
moment  all  would  be  safe.  Robert  was  already  out  in 
the  night. 

"  Margaret,"  she  answered,  "  unfortunately,  I  can  have 
no  doubt  on  the  subject.  I  heard  Dr.  Burton  ask  you  if 
you  were  coming,  and  you  answered  '  Yes.' " 

She  smiled. 

"  You  thought  I  was  going  to  elope  with  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  what  else  ?"  said  Jean. 

"  Xo,"  she  said,  "  I  was  going  to  tell  him  that  I  would 
never  see  him  again  ;  but" — turning  to  the  door — "  I  hear 
voices !  Who  is  talking  to  him  ?" 

"It  is  Robert,"  said  Jean. 

Margaret's  frightened  face  turned  toward  her  com- 
panion, as  she  said, — 

"  Does  'he,  too,  think " 

There  was  no  time  to  say  more, — the  voices  without 
became  louder,  as  if  in  altercation. 

"  For  God's  sake,  mamma,  open  the  door  1"  said  she, 
clasping  her  hands.  "  Suppose  anything  should  happen 
to  Mr.  Murray !" 

The  idea  of  danger  to  Robert  had  not  occurred  to  Jean 
before ;  but  now  she  received  it  in  its  full  force,  and, 


274  THE  HO L COMBES. 

rushing  into  her  room,  came  back  with  the  key ;  but 
before  it  could  be  turned  in  the  lock  there  was  the  report 
of  a  pistol,  a  scuffle,  a  groan,  and  Margaret  Holcombe 
dropped  upon  her  knees.  Jean  never  knew  how  she 
opened  the  door ;  but  she  heard  wheels  grating  over  the 
gravel  as  the  vehicle  moved  rapidly  away.  And  as  she 
flew  down  the  steps  she  saw,  lying  on  the  grass,  a  dark 
figure,  with  the  moon  shining  on  its  white  face.  It  was 
Robert ! 

Now  Jean  was  a  woman  of  great  self-control  on  ordi- 
nary occasions ;  but  when  she  saw  this  precious  brother 
lying  there,  to  all  appearance  dead,  life  seemed  to  stand 
still  in  her  heart  and  veins.  In  an  instant  she  knelt 
beside  the  prostrate  body,  and  shrieked  forth  her  an- 
guish. 

"  Let  me  pass,  mamma,"  said  a  voice  beside  her,  clear 
and  sharp  in  sound  as  an  alarm-bell,  and  terrible  in  its 
calmness ;  "  this  is  my  right.  What  though  I  have 
killed  him  by  my  folly, — I  loved  him  more  than  you  or 
any  one  else  in  the  world  could  have  done."  And  Mar- 
garet Holcombe  almost  thrust  Jean  aside ;  and,  sitting 
down  on  the  grass,  raised  the  still  head  upon  her  knee. 
Then  came  a  broken  Avail.  "  Ah,  he  knows  all  now, — 
my  darling  !  my  darling!" 

Had  her  voice  the  power  to  wake  the  dead,  or  was  it 
an  echo  which  repeated  my  darling !  my  darling  !  as  the 
blue  eyes  slowly  unclosed  and  looked  into  her  face  with 
such  joy  in  their  expression  as  man  seldom  experiences 
more  than  once.  Then  strength  failed  her,  and  Margaret 
Holcombe  fell  back  and  fainted. 

But  now  the  servants  had  caught  the  alarm,  and  came 
running  up  to  the  scene  of  action.  Robert  Murray  did 
not  again  lose  consciousness,  and  with  some  assistance 
was  able  to  walk  into  the  house ;  but  Margaret,  still  in 


A   NIGHT   VISITOR.  275 

that  dead  faint,  was  borne  up  to  her  room,  and  every 
means  used  to  recover  her,  but  for  a  long  time  without 
success.  The  doctor  had  been  sent  for  at  once,  but  before 
he  arrived  Robert  Murray  told  Jean  of  what  had  hap- 
pened after  her  visit  to  his  room. 

He  said  that,  although  appearances  were  so  sorely 
against  her,  he  never  had  the  least  doubt  that  they  were 
deceptive  as  regarded  Margaret  Holcombe  ;  that  even  in 
her  most  reckless  misery,  he  did  not,  for  an  instant,  be 
lieve  that  she  could  so  far  do  violence  to  her  character  as 
to  consent  to  such  a  step  as  an  elopement;  but  his  con- 
versation with  her  on  the  evening  before  convinced  him 
that  the  mystery  which  had  seemed  to  pursue  her  for 
some  time  past  had  reached  its  culminating  point,  and 
the  time  had  arrived  for  him  to  interfere,  armed  with  the 
authority  vested  in  him  by  Mr.  Holcombe*.  So,  following 
Jean's  directions,  he  crept  quietly  down  through  her 
room,  and  so  out  into  the  night.  Going  around  the  build- 
ing, he  found  Burton  looking  anxiously  up  at  the  house. 
He  was  evidently  a  good  deal  startled  to  see  him,  and 
made  a  step  towards  his  vehicle,  which  waited  for  him ; 
but,  catching  him  by  the  arm,  Mr.  Murray  demanded  to 
know  what  he  was  doing  there  at  that  time  of  the  night. 

"  I  am  master  of  my  own  actions,"  said  he,  doggedly  ; 
"  and  shall  not  make  myself  accountable  to  you." 

"You  are  not  master  of  your  own  actions  on  these 
premises,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  calmly,  "  since  the  owner 
has  forbidden  your  appearance  here,  and  has  given  me 
full  authority  to  expel  you, — forcibly,  if  need  be." 

"  Yes,"  said  Burton,  maliciously ;  "  but  there  are 
orders  more  potent  under  which  I  act, — those  of  his 
daughter." 

"I  believe  that  you  lie,  villainously,"  said  Mr.  Mur- 
ray ;  "  but  whether  that  be  so  or  not,  Miss  Holcombe  is 


276  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

under  my  care,  and  I  shall  not  permit  her  to  see  you. 
Now,  you  can  go." 

"  Not  at  your  bidding,"  said  he, — "  I'll  see  you  in  h — 11 
first.  I  see  your  game, — you  wish  to  marry  her  your- 
self." 

"Whatever  I  wish,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "is  not  now  a 
point  under  discussion.  I  shall  know  how  to  choose  my 
confidants.  Good-evening,  sir." 

An  expression  of  baffled  malignity  passed  over  the 
man's  face,  and,  before  Mr.  Murray  guessed  his  intention, 
he  had  drawn  a  pistol,  and,  putting  the  point  at  his 
breast,  said,  with  a  terrible  oath,  "  Then  you  shall  not 
have  her !" 

Mr.  Murray  had  only  time  to  start  a  little  to  one  side, 
which  saved  his  life,  though  he  was  perfectly  insensible 
until  he  heard  Margaret's  voice. 

Jean  longed  to  ask  him  if  he  had  heard  what  she  said, 
but  felt  that  it  was  a  matter  of  delicacy  with  which  she 
could  not  intermeddle. 

It  was  decided  between  them  that  Margaret's  connec- 
tion with  the  tragical  affair  must  rest  with  them,  and  that, 
to  secure  this  the  more  effectually,  it  must  never  be  known 
that  Burton  was  the  perpetrator  of  the  act. 

"  There  is  no  fear,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  "  of  his  further 
molestation  ;  take  my  word  for  it,  he  will  disappear  after 
to-night,  for  he  thinks  he  has  killed  me,  and  will  make  all 
haste  to  escape  the  hands  of  justice.  So  we  are  freed 
from  that  trouble." 

When  the  doctor  came,  his  first  care  was  to  examine 
Mr.  Murray's  wounds,  which  Jean  had  bound  up,  to  the 
best  of  her  ability,  but  which  demanded  instant  atten- 
tion. 

"By  George!"  he  said,  "the  rascal  aimed  at  your 
heart !  A  very  narrow  escape! — very  narrow,  indeed  1" 


A   NIGHT   VISITOR.  277 

The  movement  Mr.  Murray  had  made  had  thrown  the 
point  of  the  pistol  farther  to  the  side,  and  given  the  ball 
a  slanting,  instead  of  a  direct,  course ;  it  had  grazed  the 
ribs,  and  gone  through  the  fleshj'  part  of  the  arm,  just 
above  the  elbow,  thus  inflicting  two  severe  flesh-wounds, 
but  with  which,  as  there  was  no  danger,  Mr.  Murray 
was  very  glad  to  compromise. 

The  doctor,  of  course,  was  full  of  curiosity  about  the 
affair,  and  his  questions  were  rather  embarrassing. 

"Well,  what  kind  of  a  looking  man  was  he  ?" 

Mr.  Murray  gave  a  general  description,  which  would 
have  covered  the  appearance  of  half  the  men  in  the 
world. 

"  Would  you  know  him  again,  if  you  saw  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  was  the  answer,  "  I  think  I  should, — the 
moon  was  so  bright,  I  saw  him  distinctly." 

"Ah,  well,  then,  we  may  hope  to  catch  him  yet."  And 
then  followed  a  long  string  of  depredations  which  had 
been  committed  in  the  neighborhood,  which  Jean  inter- 
rupted by  proposing  that  the  doctor  should  see  Margaret, 
as  she  still  seemed  to  be  suffering  from  the  effects  of  the 
fright. 

"Fainted,  did  she  ?'' said  he,  in  surprise.  "Why,  I 
had  no  idea  Margie  was  one  of  the  fainting  kind  ;  but 
women  always  will  faint  if  they  get  a  chance." 

Jean  explained  that  Margaret  had  not  been  well,  which 
accounted  for  her  being  more  easily  affected  than  she 
would  otherwise  have  been. 

When  they  went  into  her  room  they  found  that  she 
had  so  far  yielded  to  remedies  as  to  open  her  eyes ;  but, 
further  than  that,  she  showed  no  consciousness. 

"  Strange !"  said  Dr.  Campbell,  as  he  felt  her  pulse  and 
examined  the  dilated  pupil  of  her  staring  eye.  "  There 

24 


278  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

is  more  the  matter  here  than  mere  fainting, — her  brain  is 
interested." 

Jean's  heart  beat  quickly  at  the  unexpected  intelli- 
gence. 

He  leaned  over  her  and  called,  "  Margaret,  Margaret." 
There  was  a  movement  of  the  eyes  and  a  slight  contrac- 
tion of  the  brows  at  the  familiar  sound,  but  no  answer. 

He  ordered  a  cool  cloth  laid  on  her  head,  and  adminis- 
tered an  anodyne  ;  then,  turning  to  Jean,  he  said,  "  I 
may  be  able  to  tell  better  by  the  morning;  but,"  lower- 
ing his  voice,  "  I  think,  at  present,  my  dear  madam,  that 
her  symptoms  are  alarming.  Everything  depends  upon 
keeping  her  quiet  and  composed.  Send  for  old  Judy, — 
she  is  the  best  nurse  in  the  world,  and  can  live  without 
sleeping."  So  Mammy  was  sent  for,  and  took  up  her 
station  beside  the  bedside  of  the  patient. 

When  the  doctor  came  in  the  morning,  he  found  her 
still  in  the  same  condition,  with  wide-open,  staring  eyes. 
She  had  experienced  no  relief  from  the  anodynes,  though 
she  lay  still,  except  occasionally  a  restless  movement  of 
the  head  and  the  constant  motion  of  the  eyes,  as  they 
searched  each  face,  earnestly,  intently. 

The  doctor  advised  that  Mr.  Holcombc  should  be  tele- 
graped  instantly  of  her  condition,  and  promised  to  attend 
to  it  himself,  upon  his  return  to  town. 

"  Halloo  I"  he  said,  going  then  into  Mr.  Murray's  room, 
"last  night  was  a  sort  of  Walpurgis  night ;  every  place 
seems  to  have  had  an  adventure.  Here  the  whole  town 
is  in  a  state  of  excitement  about  the  disappearance  of 
that  fellow  Burton  ;  or,  at  least,  he  has  not  yet  returned. 
It  seems  he  hired  a  buggy  at  Long's  livery-stable,  and 
told  him  to  send  for  it  to  Marshall's  Creek  this  morning, 
and  when  the  man  who  stays  over  the  stables  came  out 
at  daybreak,  here  was  the  vehicle  and  horse  standing 


A   NIGHT   VISITOR.  2T9 

tied  at  the  door,  and  the  money  for  its  hire  wrapped  up 
on  the  seat  of  the  buggy.  And  his  landlady  says  she 
heard  him  come  in,  about  half-past  twelve  o'clock,  and  go 
up  to  his  room,  and  then  return,  and  go  out  of  the  front 
door  again.  And  when  she  went  up  this  morning,  she 
found  a  note  from  him,  inclosing  the  money  for  his  board, 
in  which  he  stated  that  he  had  been  called  away  sud- 
denly, and  might  not  return.  By-the-by,"  he  exclaimed, 
as  if  a  new  idea  struck  him,  "what  time  did  this  fracas 
take  place  here  ?" 

"  I  did  not  look  at  my  watch,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  eva- 
sively. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  the  two  things  could  be  taken  in 
connection  ?"  asked  the  doctor,  thoughtfully. 

"  Oh,  I  should  have  known  Dr.  Burton,"  said  Mr.  Mur- 
ray," so  naturally,  that  the  doctor  was  thrown  off  the 
track,  and  said, — 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  you  would,  of  course  you  would ; 
but  how  are  your  wounds  this  morning  ?" 

"I  feel  very  little  inconvenience  from  them,"  answered 
Mr.  Murray,  "except  a  stiffness  of  the  tendons  of  my 
arm,  and  a  want  of  strength,  which  I  suppose  is  due  to 
loss  of  blood." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  lost  a  good  deal  ;  but  you  are  doing 
very  well,  and  have  great  cause  to  congratulate  yourself 
on  your  escape.  I  never  saw  one  more  narrow.  I  wish 
the  rascal  could  be  found.  I  am  afraid  that  poor  child 
up-stairs  will  not  get  off  so  easily  as  you  are  doing." 

Mr.  Murray  turned  to  him  in  alarm.  "  You  do  not 
mean  Miss  Holcombe,  I  hope,  sir  ?"  For  Jean  had  pur- 
posely kept  the  account  of  her  illness  from  him. 

"Indeed  I  do,"  said  the  doctor;  "I  am  afraid  she  is 
going  to  be  seriously  ill.  There  is,  evidently,  some  se- 
vere tension  of  the  brain,  and  the  anodynes  have  had  no 


280  THE  IIOLCOMBES. 

effect,  as  yet, — she  has  not  slept  at  all.  I  shall  telegraph 
for  her  father  as  soon  as  I  get  back  to  town.  But,  good- 
morning, — I  shall  return  this  evening  again.' 

Mr.  Murray  was  infinitely  shocked  at  the  unexpected 
intelligence,  and  Jean  coming  in  just  then,  he  announced 
to  her  that  he  intended  to  get  up  and  go  himself  to  visit 
the  patient,  as  he  must  judge  for  himself  of  her  con- 
dition. 

"Oh,  Robert,"  remonstrated  Jean,  "there  is  no  neces- 
sity,— you  could  do  nothing  if  you  went;  Mammy  is 
there.,  and  the  doctor  said,  particularly,  no  one  else  must 
go  into  the  room.  Besides,  if  she  should  recover  her 
senses,  I  do  not  think  she  would  be  pleased  at  all  to  see 
you  there." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  he,  perfectly  unmoved;  "but  I 
shall  go,  nevertheless.  As  to  there  being  any  impropriety 
in  my  going  into  Margaret  Holcombe's  room,  that  is  non- 
sense. You  must  know,  after  what  passed  last  night,  that 
the  tie  between  us  two  no  longer  rests  on  mere  conven- 
tional. She  will  be  my  wife  as  soon  as  I  am  permitted 
to  claim  her,  and  this  I  shall  take  care  is  understood  by 
all  who  need  know  it.  My  place  is  certainly  by  her  while 
she  is  in  danger." 

In  a  few  minutes  after,  he  walked  to  the  door  of 
Margaret's  room,  and,  knocking  softly,  obtained  admit- 
tance. 

Mammy  looked  somewhat  shocked  at  this  invasion  of 
her  prerogatives ;  but  he  said,  gravely  and  quietly, — 

"  It  is  necessary  that  you  should  understand  my  posi- 
tion with  regard  to  this  young  lady.  First,  her  father 
has  committed  her  to  my  charge,  and  next,  she  will,  God 
willing,  be  my  wife  ;  so  my  place  is  here."  And  the  old 
lady  bowed  her  acknowledgments  of  his  rights. 

His  calmness  was  almost  overcome,   however,  when 


A   NIGHT   VISITOR.  281 

those  bright  black  eyes  turned  upon  him  with  their  rest- 
less search  ;  but  they  stopped  in  his  face. 

"  I  do  bleave,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  dat  she  is  found 
what  she  been  looking  for." 

It  did  seem  so.  For  the  first  time  the  eyes  rested,  and 
a  look  of  quiet  crept  into  their  expression. 

He  reached  out  and  laid  his  cool  hand  over  their  burn- 
ing lids.  They  closed  ;  but  when  the  pressure  was  re- 
moved they  opened  again ;  but  she  was  decidedly  more 
quiet,  keeping  her  eyes,  whenever  they  were  opened,  on 
his  face,  but  never  speaking  an  articulate  word,  though 
the  lips  would  move  every  now  and  then,  as  if  the  brain 
was  instructing  the  tongue  ;  but  no  sound  came. 

The  doctor  came  in  the  evening  again,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  find  Mr.  Murray  assuming  the  position  of  nurse  ; 
but  he  quietly  explained  his  claims,  and  when  he  saw 
that  he  was  doing  his  patient  good,  he  no  longer  ob- 
jected. 

The  fact  is,  nature  was  asserting  her  rights  terribly 
upon  this  young  girl.  She  had  been  defrauded  too  long 
to  bear  it  quietly,  and  for  a  weary  time  the  ph}rsician 
watched  and  waited  without  being  able  either  to  give  or 
receive  much  encouragement. 

Mr.  Holcombe  was  much  shocked  to  find  the  telegram 
awaiting  him  on  his  arrival  in  Richmond,  and  at  once  re- 
turned home.  How  constantly  his  mind  reverted,  during 
the  journey,  to  her  "  good-by  ;"  and  bis  eyes  overflowed 
when  he  thought  that  perhaps  it  was  the  last  word  she 
would  ever  speak  to  him. 

Ah,  the  return  home  after  a  summons  of  this  kind! 
The  tension  upon  the  nerves  seems  to  increase  as  the 
distance  lessens,  until  at  last  it  amounts  to  perfect 
agony. 

Dr.  Campbell  met  him  at  the  depot,  and,  although 
24* 


282  THE  HOL COMBES. 

there  was  not  much  hope  in  his  account,  it  was  something 
that  she  was  yet  alive,  and  her  case,  though  desperate, 
not  hopeless. 

Jean  met  him  at  the  door,  and  made  him  at  once  mas- 
ter of  the  situation  in  full.  He  was  prepared,  therefore, 
to  find  her  self-appointed  nurse  at  her  bedside,  adminis- 
tering her  medicines  and  nourishment  with  the  tenderness 
of  a  woman,  and  he  looked  on  with  wonder  at  the  power 
which  this  comparative  stranger  had  over  her.  She  was 
restless  and  irritable  with  others,  but  a  request  from  him 
was  seldom  denied,  and  she  would  take  nothing  from  any 
other  bauds. 

It  was  a  long,  dreary  time  they  had  to  watch,  without 
encouragement.  Indian  summer  had  ceased  to  flatter 
with  its  balmy  breath,  and  cold  winter  had  come,  with 
its  white  finger  clothing  all  nature  in  its  snowy  garb.  And 
still  they  dared  not  hope  with  any  degree  of  confidence. 
It  was  a  sad  Christmas. 

She  was  no  worse,  was  all  the  doctor  could  be  induced 
to  say.  Mr.  Murray  caught  what  rest  he  could  during 
her  brief  snatches  of  sleep,  but  was  nearly  always  ready 
to  fill  the  vacuum  for  those  restless  eyes. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  rare  seasons  that  he  lay 
down  on  a  couch  in  the  next  room,  ordering  that  he 
should  be  called  if  she  waked,  and  fell  into  a  sound  sleep. 
To  his  surprise,  he  found,  upon  waking,  that  several  hours 
had  elapsed,  and,  rising  hastily,  went  into  the  next  room. 
There  she  was,  still  sleeping,  with  the  lips  parted,  and  the 
gentle  breath  coming  softly  between  them.  This  con- 
tinued for  at  least  an  hour  longer,  and  then  the  eyes 
opened,  and,  for  the  first  time  since  her  .sickness,  he  heard 
the  sound  of  her  voice. 

He  was  sitting  behind  her,  so  that  the  first  face  her 
eyes  rested  upon  was  Mammy's. 


A   NIGHT   VISITOR.  283 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  she  said,  putting1  up  her  trembling 
hand. 

"  Here  in  your  own  room,  my  child,"  said  she,  without 
expressihg  any  surprise. 

The  eyes  closed  for  a  minute,  and  then  opened  again. 

"  I  can't  remember  anything." 

"  Don't  try  now.  Here,  take  this,"  holding  a  spoon  to 
her,  "and  go  to  sleep  again."  But  she  put  it  aside,  and 
then  Mr.  Murray,  thinking  to  enforce  it,  offered  it  to  her. 
She  looked  at  him  in  the  greatest  surprise.  The  blood 
mounted  to  her  thin  cheeks,  and,  trying  to  draw  the  cover 
more  closely  over  her,  she  said,  without  speaking  to 
him, — 

"  Oh,  Mammy,  don't  let  him  stay  in  here !" 

She  was  thoroughly  conscious  now,  he  saw,  and  the 
first  result  of  the  improvement  was  his  banishment  from 
the  sick-room.  He  did  not  remonstrate,  because  he  knew 
it  would  be  of  no  use ;  nor  was  he  very  much  surprised 
at  it,  because  he  had  looked  forward  to  a  renewal  of  her 
self-torture  with  a  return  of  reason ;  but  it  was,  never- 
theless, a  great  trial  to  him.  He  had  been  head-nurse  so 
long  that  he  did  not  know,  in  the  first  place,  what  to  do 
with  the  idle  time  it  left  at  his  disposal ;  and  then,  too, 
he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  any  one  else  performing  for 
her  those  offices  it  had  been  so  sad  a  pleasure  to  him  to 
perform  during  her  illness.  So  he  wandered  about,  look- 
ing very  disconsolate,  nor  did  the  accounts  brought  him 
from  the  sick-room  tend  to  console  him  very  materially. 

The  patient  progressed  but  slowly  towards  recovery, 
and  her  state  of  depression  tended  to  confirm  the  idea  in 
the  minds  of  her  nurses  that  some  causes  were  operating 
still  upon  her  mind  which  retarded  her  recovery.  Jean 
had  found  Dr.  Burton's  last  letter  in  her  room  when  Mar- 
garet was  first  taken  sick,  and,  without  reading  it  herself, 


284  TEE  HOLCOMBES. 

had  handed  it  over  to  Mr.  Holcombe  upon  his  return. 
This  was  at  once  a  key  to  the  mystery ;  but  how  to  meet 
the  present  difficulty  in  her  weak  condition  was  perplex- 
ing. Mr.  Murray  was  confident  that  if  he  could  only 
have  a  personal  interview  with  her,  he  could  remove  the 
trouble ;  but  to  manage  this  required  considerable  skill. 
He  wrote  a  letter  to  her,  entreating  that  he  might  be 
permitted  to  visit  her;  and  Jean  told  him  that,  so  far 
from  having  a  happy  effect  upon  her,  she  was  ill  from 
nervous  excitement  at  what  she  considered  an  unprece- 
dented impertinence  on  his  part.  Nor  did  she  recover 
from  this  for  some  days. 

It  ended  in  Dr.  Campbell's  being  taken  into  their  full 
confidence,  and  he  announced  to  her  one  day  that  her  re- 
moval from  that  room  was  absolutely  necessary.  It  was 
in  vain  that  she  wept,  scolded,  and  entreated  by  turns, — 
the  old  doctor  was  inexorable  ;  so,  making  her  toilet  as 
well  as  they  could  in  her  present  weak  condition,  old 
Mammy  threw  over  her  white  wrapper  a  crimson  flannel 
dressing-gown,  and  Mr.  Holcombe,  taking  her  in  his  arms, 
bore  her,  very  tenderly,  down  to  the  library,  and  laid  her 
on  the  lounge. 

Now,  we  have  seen  enough  of  Margaret  Holcombe's 
natural  disposition  to  guess  that  this  opposition  to  her 
wishes  was  not  borne  with  angelic  patience  ;  but  she  had 
no  physical  strength  to  oppose  to  the  move,  and  so  was 
forced  to  submit,  though  with  all  the  nervous  irritability 
attendant  upon  her  weakness  of  body.  She  cried  from 
the  time  the  preparations  commenced  until  she  was,  as 
we  have  related,  laid  upon  the  sofa  in  the  library. 

She  could  not  help,  however,  feeling  some  enjoyment 
in  the  cheerful  aspect  which  this  favorite  sitting-room  had 
assumed  for  her  welcome, — the  heavy  dark-green  curtains 
falling  in  folds  to  the  ground,  the  bright  carpet,  and 


A  NIGHT   VISITOR.  285 

all  the  familiar  books  looking  down  upon  her  from  their 
niches  in  the  shelves,  filling  her  with  a  longing  to  be 
well  enough  to  resume  her  readings,  and  then  the  ruddy 
glow  of  the  bright  fire  over  everything.  She  closed  her 
eyes  with  a  feeling  of  comfort  which  she  did  not  like  to 
acknowledge.  Then,  too,  she  had  so  dreaded  encounter- 
ing Mr.  Murray  if  she  left  the  sanctuary  of  her  own 
apartment;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  him  anywhere,  so 
she  grew  much  more  quiet;  and  Mr.  Holcombe,  getting  a 
book  from  the  shelves,  sat  down  at  the  head  of  the  lounge, 
with  his  cool  hand  upon  her  head,  ready  to  attend  to  any 
expressed  want.  Thus  a  feeling  of  peace  and  security 
took  the  place  of  nervous  irritation  and  apprehension, 
and  this,  added  to  the  unwonted  exertion  she  had  made, 
with  the  fatigue  consequent  upon  it,  made  her  an  easy 
victim  to  the  slumber  which  crept  over  her  before  she 
was  aware  of  it. 

She  slept  soundly  for  a  long  time,  and  was  only  dimly 
conscious  of  the  closer  drawing  of  the  curtains,  so  as  to 
throw  a  deeper  shade  over  the  room,  and  the  click  of  the 
lock  of  the  door ;  but,  before  she  could  rouse  herself  to 
see  if  her  father  was  leaving  her,  the  cool,  soothing  press- 
ure was  resumed  on  her  head,  and  -she  gave  herself  up 
again,  without  further  struggle,  to  the  blessed  slumber. 
It  must  have  been  two  hours  before  she  stirred,  and  still 
that  patient  nurse  sat  beside  her,  bending  over,  ever  and 
anon,  to  look  into  the  face  which  still  exhibited  such  sad 
traces  of  her  illness.  And  fervent  were  the  aspirations 
which  went  up  from  his  full  heart,  that  this  precious  life 
was  given  to  their  prayers. 

At  last  nature  was  resuscitated,  and  the  repose  was 
broken.  Half-raising  her  head,  she  said,  before  her  eyes 
became  accustomed  to  the  darkness, — 

"  Oh,  papa,  what  a  nice  long  sleep  I  have  had  ! — and 


286  THE  I10LCOMBES. 

you,  dear,  patient  old  nurse,  have  been  sitting  here  all  the 
time."  And  she  turned  towards  him  to  reward  him  by 
a  kiss ;  but  her  purpose  was  changed  when  she  found  it 
was  not  her  papa,  but  Mr.  Murray,  who  occupied  the 
chair  at  the  head  of  her  couch. 

Indignation  at  the  trick  which  had  been  played  upon 
her,  and  embarrassment  in  his  presence  under  the  oppress- 
ive recollections  which  filled  her  mind,  strove  for  the  mas- 
tery, and  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"Why,  my  darling,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  Mr. 
Murray,  leaning  over  her,  and  trying  to  take  her  hands 
from  her  face. 

She  raised  up,  and  said,  angrily,  "  Mr.  Murray,  I  can- 
not imagine  what  can  give  you  a  claim  to  take  such  a 
liberty  with  me,  unless  it  be  a  recollection  of  the  absurd 
scene  on  that  night,  and  I  beg  you  will  attribute  it  to  ill- 
ness, insanity,  or  any  reasonable  cause ;  but,  remember, 
I  do  not  choose  that  you  should  ever  presume  upon  it." 

"  Margaret,"  said  he,  "  it  gives  me  a  claim  over  you 
that  nothing  in  this  world  shall  ever  dissolve,  thank  God ! 
Would  you  take  from  me  the  greatest  happiness  which 
this  life  can  afford  me, — the  bliss  of  knowing  that  my  de- 
votion to  you  meets  with  a  response  ?" 

There  was  no  doubting  the  tone  of  feeling,  —  the  ex- 
pression which  beamed  upon  her  from  his  eyes,  as  she 
raised  hers  to  his  face.  The  hands  he  held  ceased  their 
struggle  for  freedom,  and  the  blessed  conviction  that  he 
loved  her  with  all  the  fervor  of  his  being,  took  possession 
of  her  heart. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Murray,"  she  said,  in  her  surprise,  "  can  this 
be  really  so  ?" 

"  It  does  but  little  credit  to  your  discernment,  Margie," 
said  he,  smiling,  "  not  to  have  made  the  discovery  long 


A  NIGHT   VISITOR.  28 1 

ago.  I  certainly  tried  every  way  in  my  power  to  let  you 
see  it." 

"  Bat  you  said  that  I  was  not  your  style  of  woman, — . 
that  you  could  never  love  me." 

"  That  unlucky  speech  of  mine  1"  exclaimed  Mr.  Mur- 
ray. "  Yes,  I  said  so,  and  at  the  time  I  believed  it ; 
but  not  half  an  hour  after  it  was  made  I  had  a  deeper 
insight  into  my  heart  than  I  had  ever  been  blessed  with 
before,  and  I  knew  then  that  the  only  woman  I  could  ever 
love  was  this  one."  And  he  stooped  over  her  and  kissed 
her  brow.  "  Do  you  believe  me  now,  darling?" 

"  It  seems  almost  too  strange  to  believe  it  all  at  once," 
she  said  ;  "  but  oh,  Mr.  Murray,  how  much  trouble  might 
have  been  saved  if  I  had  only  known  !" 

"  Don't  let  us  murmur  at  the  trouble,"  he  said;  "  it  has 
worked  out  its  own  end,  I  expect.  It  has  done  us  more 
good  than  all  happiness  would  have  done.  Let  us  take 
the  blessing  which  God  gives  us,  and  cherish  it  as  the 
best  earthly  gift  of  his  hand,  and,  God  willing,  all  the 
trouble,  as  well  as  the  bliss,  which  life  has  in  store  for  us, 
shall  be  shared  together  hereafter." 


CONCLUSION. 

SPRING  had  again  triumphed  over  gloomy  winter, 
and  was  rejoicing  in  her  victory,  decked  in  her  freshest 
green  robes,  when  we  look  onr  last  at  Rose  Hill.  But 
what  is  it  which  gives  the  old  place  such  an  air  of  busy 
preparation  ?  Perhaps  only  the  spring  upturning,  which 
is  so  important  a  time  with  Virginia  housewives.  But 
no!  as  we  come  nearer  now  we  see  it  must  be  some- 
thing more,  for  around  at  one  side  of  the  house  tiny  white 
tents  dot  the  green  grass,  and  again  the  colored  lanterns 
of  fanciful  patterns  hang  like  luminous  fruit  of  strange 
species  from  the  trees.  Shall  I  whisper  a  word  in  the  ear 
of  the  reader,  or  does  he  already  guess  that  once  again 
the  doors  of  Rose  Hill  are  thrown  open  to  welcome 
acquaintances,  relations,  and  friends  upon  the  occasion  of 
the  bridal  of  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  house  ? 

We  recognize  several  old  acquaintances  among  the 
guests.  There  is  kind  Mrs.  Mason  and  her  daughters; 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Randolph  and  theirs ;  Mr.  George,  looking 
almost  festive  enough  for  a  Christmas  occasion,  and  on 
his  arm  leans  a  fair,  graceful  woman,  whom  he  intro- 
duces to  everybody  as  "my  wife;"  then,  in  that  tall 
young  man,  with  the  groomsman's  rosette  on  his  shoulder, 
we  trace  a  likeness  to  fun-loving  George  ;  and  that  great 
boy  there,  whom  they  all  call  "  General,"  can  be  no  other 
than  John,  who  is  perfectly  charmed  at  the  idea  of  being 
a  groomsman  also.  But  here  flits  in  a  fairy  little  figure, 
with  long  golden  hair  and  dancing  eyes,  who  summons 
(288) 


CONCLUSION.  289 

the  bridal  party  into  the  closed  parlor;  and  instantly  there 
is  a  cramming  and  jamming  into  the  other  room,  and 
expectation  even  fails  to  subdue  the  crowd  into  silence 
until  the  folding-doors  are  thrown  open,  and  a  beautiful 
tableau  bursts  suddenly  upon  the  sight. 

We  have  no  difficulty,  fortunately,  in  recognizing  those 
two  central  figures, — we  have  become  too  well  acquainted 
with  them  during  the  progress  of  these  pages  to  doubt 
their  indentity ;  and  surely  they  are  a  royal-looking 
couple.  He  still  holds  his  rank,  head  and  shoulders  above 
his  fellows,  and,  methinks,  the  noble  head  rears  itself  a 
little  prouder  than  usual  for  the  burden  which  leans  upon 
his  arm.  He  glances  down  once  at  that  coronet  of  dark 
hair,  around  which  glimmer,  like  stars  in  the  sky,  the 
pure  wreath  of  orange-blossoms,  over  which  the  rich  veil 
of  lace  is  thrown,  which,  falling  in  such  ample  folds,  even 
to  the  floor,  envelops  the  whole  of  the  graceful  figure,  and 
through  whose  gossamer  texture  the  pure  shimmer  of  the 
rich  silk  is  seen.  But  the  murmurs  of  the  crowd  cease 
for  an  instant  as  the  minister  delivers  his  charge  to  the 
married  couple.  Let  us  also  hear  what  he  says : 

"  God,  in  mercy  to  our  race,  smooths  the  rough  path- 
way of  our  lives,  and  lights  up  its  dark  places,  with  these 
beautiful  domestic  relations,  these  endearing  ties,  where 
two  natures,  fitting  and  blending  into  one,  develop  and 
improve,  each  the  other;  and  thus  they  attain  to  the 
highest  degree  of  earthly  happiness  and  usefulness.  And 
if,  as  is  the  case  with  you,  my  friends,  God  has  blessed 
you  with  a  still  richer  gift, — even  a  sense  of  his  con- 
tinual presence  and  guidance, — your  happiness  increases 
through  the  endless  ages  of  eternity. 

"  Hereafter  your  walk  will  be  side  by  side, — your  hap- 
piness dependent  each  upon  the  other.  Your  hearts  are, 

25  . 


290  THE  HOLCOMBES. 

even  now,  saying  the  one  to  the  other,  in  the  beautiful 
poetry  of  Scripture, — 

"  'Whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go ;  where  thou  lodgest,  I 
will  lodge  :  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God 
my  God :  where  thou  diest,  will  I  die,  and  there  will  I 
be  buried :  the  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  aught 
but  death  part  me  and  thee.' " 


POPULAR   WORKS 

PUBLISHED   BY 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   &   CO., 

PHILADELPHIA. 

WILL  BE  SEN'l  BY  MAIL,  POST-PAID,  ON  RECEIPT  OF  PRICE. 


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"A  well-told  romance.  It  is  of  that 
order  of  tales  originating  with  Miss  Char- 
lotte Bronte". "— N.  Y.  Even.  Post. 


"The  style  is  animated,  and  the  charac- 
ters are  not  deficient  in  individuality." — 
Phila.  Age. 


The  Old  Countess.     A  Romance.     From  the  Ger- 

man  of  EDMUND   HOFEK,  by  the   translator  of  "  Over  Yonder," 
"  Magdalena,"  etc.     I2mo.     Fire  cloth.     $i. 

volved  to  compel  wonder  and  suspense, 
and  ends  very  happily." — The  North 
A  merican. 

"  An  interesting  story." — The  Inquirer. 


"A  charming  story  of  life  in  an  old 
German  castle,  told  in  the  pleasant  Ger- 
man manner  that  attracts  attention  and 
keeps  it  throughout." — The  Phila.  Day. 

"  The  story  is  not  long,  is  sufficiently  in- 

Bound  Down;  or,  Life 

Novel.     By  ANNA  M.  FITCH.     I2mo. 


and  Its  Possibilities. 

Fine  cloth.     $1.50. 


"  It  is  a  remarkable  book." — N.  Y. 
Even.  Mail. 

"An  interesting  domestic  story,  which 
will  be  perused  with  pleasure  from  begin- 
ning to  end." — Baltimore  Even.  Bulletin. 


"  The  author  of  this  book  has  genius  ; 
it  is  written  cleverly,  with  occasional 
glimpses  into  deep  truths.  .  .  .  Dr.  Mars- 
ton  and  Mildred  are  splendid  characters." 
—  Phila.  Presbyterian. 


Henry   Cotirtland;  or,  What  A  Farmer  can  Do. 

A  Novel.     By  A.  J.  CLINE.     i2mo.     Fine  cloth.     $1.75. 

"  This  volume    belongs  to  a  class  of     valuable.  .  .  .  The  whole  story  hangs  well 
prose  fiction  unfortunately  as  rare  as  it  is      together." — Phila.  Press. 

Rougegorge.  By  Harriet  Prescolt  Stafford. 
With  other  Short  Stories  by  ALICE  GARY,  LUCY  H.  HOOPER,  JANE 
G.  AUSTIN,  A.  L.  WISTER,  L.  C.  DAVIS,  FRANK  LEE  BENEDICT, 
etc.  8vo.  With  Frontispiece.  Paper  cover.  50  cents. 

"This  is  a  rare  collection." — Chicago  "The  contents  are  rich,  varied  and  at- 

Even.  Journal..  tractive." — Pittsburg  Gazette. 

"Admirable  series  of  attractive  Tales." 
• — Charleston  Courier. 

The  Great  Empress.    An  Historical  Portrait.    By 

Professor  SCHELE  DE  VERE,  of  the  University  of  Virginia.     121110. 
Extra  cloth.     $1.75. 

"This  portrait  of  Agrippina  is  drawn      almost  dramatic  in  its  interest." — N.  Y. 
with  great  distinctness,  and  the  book  is      Observer. 


UC  SOUTHERN    EG  ON  A   LIBRARY  FAC  LITY 


